Mass Effect: Reformation
by Impyrium
Summary: "Another such victory and we are undone." Seven years have passed since the Reaper War. The weakened races of the galaxy struggle to rebuild – a task made difficult when most star systems are stuck in isolation, unable to repair their mass relays. But when the derelict relays begin to reactivate, a ship is given a mission: to reestablish contact and reunite a galaxy.
1. Liberty and Death

Author's Note: Hello! I'm Impyrium (obviously) and this is my first fanfic. Ever since I finished ME3, I've been playing with ideas in my head about what the ME universe would look like after the Crucible. This story will primarily rely on original characters, but I imagine a few established characters will make an appearance or two.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE: Liberty and Death

Nobody was happy about the mission. It was bad enough that the journey had to be made on foot, but traveling at night forced the group of soldiers to stumble through darkness. They had departed from the Roanoke supply camp around midnight and began their trek south, winding through the hilly terrain. It was cold for October, and for days the skies had been dreary, implicit with the promise of sleet or snow. A shuttle could have made their trip in less than an hour, but noise could easily carry over the empty landscape, and stealth was vital.

"The bastards could've at least dropped us off halfway," Private Mullins grumbled quietly, yet loud enough for his companions to hear. However, they all knew the shuttle was an unnecessary risk, and that as veterans of the Systems Alliance a six-hour night march was nothing. They also knew Mullins was the type to gripe about trivial things, and so Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn, their commanding officer, chose to ignore it.

In total, there were five men. All wore dark gray combat armor with various heavy weapons holstered on their backs. Though their armor was nearly identical, only Vaughn bore the N7 insignia on his chest.

Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn was, at his core, a soldier. He possessed a lean face, one with a strong chin marred only by a scar that nearly reached his bottom lip. Moss-colored eyes sat below ash-brown hair, and as the group moved through the unfamiliar countryside, those eyes were perpetually scanning the shadowy terrain for ambush sites or defensible locations.

Hours passed below a moonless sky. As dawn arose, the landscape was cast in a pale morning light, illuminating a steep hill that sat before the group of soldiers. Vaughn held up a hand to bring the squad to a halt. He crouched low and moved forward silently. The hand with which he had signaled grasped the butt of a slim rifle secured to his back. As he drew it, the barrel extended and brought the weapon to its full length. It was a Black Widow sniper rifle, one of two weapons he had carried during the war.

Vaughn reached the hill's apex, then slid onto his stomach and crawled until he had a decent view of the ground below. Before him were the ruins of a small city. As he looked into the rifle's scope, the tripod attachment at the end of the barrel deployed to stabilize the weapon.

It was hard to say how big the town had once been. At the section furthest away from Vaughn, there was a crater – evidence of what had likely destroyed most of the city. Such were the risks of orbital combat. Targeting VI's were meant to prevent this collateral damage, but as Vaughn knew all too well, nothing was ever certain in battle.

There was a cluster of ravaged buildings in the part of town closest to Vaughn, outside the radius of the impact. Three of them looked completely uninhabitable. Through his rifle scope, Vaughn noted the familiar scarring on the ground caused by a Reaper Destroyer's weapon. Even after seven years, the charred earth still remained as evidence of their merciless destruction.

Vaughn heard quiet movement behind him and felt the presence of a figure sliding on the ground.

"I bet it was the turians," a deep voice muttered from beside him, presumably referring to the crater. "Too cocky. Always felt like they didn't need a VI to aim properly."

"A tempting shortcut to make," Vaughn observed in a flat voice. He continued surveying the ruins for signs of life. "Those Sovereign-class ships were hard to miss."

"Yeah, well, somebody sure as hell did..."

Vaughn had not signaled for Corporal Alexei Volkov to join him on the hill, but Alexei had always taken certain liberties when dealing with his superior officer. After all, the two men were close friends. They had fought side by side through the entirety of the Reaper War when both of them had been stranded on Earth. Together, they had survived countless skirmishes against overwhelming Reaper forces.

Alexei was a decade older than Vaughn, making the older man just past forty. His coarse black hair had begun to show traces of gray, but nobody doubted his fighting prowess. He stood a head taller than Vaughn and had thick, powerful arms. Alexei was also a biotic, equipped with experimental amps and cybernetic augmentations foreign to the Systems Alliance. This was because Alexei had not always been a member of the Alliance, but had spent most of his adult life in Cerberus. He had defected only weeks before the Reaper invasion of Earth, and in the midst of the slaughter, he and Vaughn had met.

Vaughn wondered if Alexei's short tirade on turian arrogance was a relic of all those years in Cerberus. Alexei had once admitted that he held no particular love for aliens, but he fiercely denied being xenophobic. Vaughn had no interest in pressing the issue.

"Think anybody was still living here when it happened?" Alexei asked.

"What?" Vaughn's brow furrowed, and in his distracted state, it took him a moment to register his friend's question. "No. Those marks over there suggest the Reapers had been here first. Regardless, we all knew the risks of fighting a battle above Earth. We knew what it would cost."

"It cost us a lot of good men and women," Alexei agreed. "Not to mention the lives of the geth, most of the relay network… and this sorry mess." He spat off the hill in the direction of the crater. "But we'd all be dead if it weren't for the Crucible – so there's that, I suppose."

A stirring of motion caught Vaughn's attention. "There. The small warehouse at ten o' clock." Vaughn spoke and increased the sniper rifle's magnification to its highest setting. It was difficult to tell at that distance in the faint light, but he could just barely see a lone figure in a window. That figure appeared to have a rifle slung across his back.

"I see him," replied Alexei as he peered through his binoculars.

Vaughn thought he noted a melancholy tone in his friend's voice, but he ignored it and holstered his weapon. He started to slide back down the hill toward the rest of his men, giving Alexei the order to stay behind and keep an eye out for enemy movement.

"We've got a visual on their base," Vaughn informed his remaining three men. "Check your weapons and be ready." He noted the troubled and sullen looks as they began to inspect their guns. He empathized with their discomfort, but made his voice harsh. "If any of you don't have what it takes for this, you can start walking back. **Now**."

"You can count on us, sir." Private Morales nodded and was echoed in agreement by Private Sterling and Private Mullins.

Vaughn drew his second weapon, an N7 Typhoon assault rifle. It was a heavy firearm, but Vaughn was used to its burden. It had kept him alive during the war, and each day in the seven years since, he spent time with it at the firing range. Its high velocity rounds would tear through just about anything in a firefight.

There came the familiar clicks as the soldiers checked their weapons – ensuring thermal clips were fresh, ammo blocks were housed firmly, and scopes were sighted accurately. Vaughn noted that his men began to fix concussive rounds to the secondary muzzles of their Valkyrie rifles. They were slow shots meant to explode upon impact, but with a force that was rarely fatal if aimed correctly. He preferred to let his men fight with what they found comfortable, especially when a lack of supplies made it difficult to enforce a standard load-out. But the fact that they chose nonlethal concussive rounds was telling, and Vaughn gloomily reflected on the uncomfortable truth: nobody was happy about the mission.

A week prior, a supply convoy from Fort Providence had been ambushed. The convoy's meager, token escort had been overwhelmed, and much-needed medicine was stolen. There had been only one gravely-wounded survivor. She reported seeing humans – organized, well-armed, and brutal. In the seven years since the war, this kind of violence was unheard of on Earth. It wasn't to say that mankind's near brush with annihilation had extinguished its vices. Murders and crimes of passion or greed still happened occasionally and were ultimately dealt with by the Systems Alliance.

However, people remembered the death that the Reaper War had inflicted. They also knew how small the galaxy was, thanks to how little of the relay network had been repaired – no more than a third of the mass relays at most. There seemed to be a tacit understanding that unity was vital. Indeed, the last seven years for Vaughn were relatively peaceful. Missions involved scaring off the occasional band of off-world smugglers, or culling varren that had somehow started to breed and thrive on the continent. Yet now, it seemed somebody was in open rebellion.

"Did the intelligence division give us anything useful?" Private Sterling asked.

"Satellite coverage is still spotty," Vaughn replied with a shrug. "They're thinking maybe a dozen raiders or so at these ruins."

Private Mullins opened his mouth, likely to utter another complaint, but a look from Vaughn promptly silenced him. The private went back to counting his thermal clips.

"_What I wouldn't give to have more than five soldiers for this mission," _Vaughn thought to himself. _"But veteran marines are in short supply... we'll just have to make due. Like always."_

* * *

It was a two-story rectangular warehouse, one with a line of broken second-floor windows across the long faces of the building. Part of the wall on the ground floor had crumbled, leaving behind a cavernous entrance roughly three meters wide. In the dirt leading up to the breach, Vaughn noted tire tracks and judged by the depth that something heavy had driven inside. At one point, the breach must have included the door to the warehouse, for there were no other entrances.

Vaughn assessed the front of the building from behind a large mound of rubble. The size of the shattered heap had made it possible for them to approach unseen by the sentry, but it was as far as they could go. There were still one hundred and fifty meters of open ground between the collapsed house and the breach. It was still early in the morning, and Vaughn knew that most of the defenders would not be alert. But he also knew that a mad dash toward the entrance could turn disastrous if somebody noticed his approach. His squad looked toward him expectantly. He considered his options for a few moments and then gave the orders.

Sterling and Mullins were tasked with remaining behind the rubble and shooting anybody that appeared at the windows. The building was dark inside, but the row of windows on the opposite side of the building faced east, providing some light so that any figure inside would be visible as a silhouette. Meanwhile, Vaughn, Alexei, and Morales all prepared to rush forward.

"The Alliance needs that medicine, and we don't know how the bandits will react when threatened. If we hit them hard and fast, they'll break, and then we can worry about taking prisoners," Vaughn hissed to his men. "Until that time, neutralize all hostile targets." He received nods in response; they might not have been happy about killing humans – fellow survivors of the war – but they were professionals. _"They'll do what needs to be done."_

Sterling raised his sniper rifle and squinted into the scope's eyepiece. Above, the sentry stared at the seemingly empty countryside. The sentry had just opened his mouth in the beginnings of a yawn when the private pulled the trigger. The distinct noise of the weapon shattered the silence of the hills, and without bothering to watch the sentry fall, Vaughn ran.

Vaughn's feet kicked up clouds of gray dust as he sprinted forward. He could hear Morales right behind him. In his peripheral vision, he saw Alexei dashing to the side of the building, working his way to the warehouse's rear. Vaughn was halfway to the breach when he heard a yell above him, quickly followed by the sound of a second sniper shot from behind. He ignored it and kept his gaze fixed on entrance in front him, trusting in the cover fire of his comrades. His finger was resting lightly on the Typhoon's trigger, anticipating the emergence of enemies at any moment.

There suddenly came the sound of automatic rifle fire from above him, but too late. Vaughn had already reached the building, thudding into the wall next to the large gap. He heard Morales skid to a halt next to him. The lieutenant paused, allowed himself a second to breathe, and then darted inside.

There were about a dozen crates scattered across the warehouse floor, and two stolen Alliance supply vehicles were parked at the far end of the building. Not far from where Vaughn and Morales entered, a single set of stairs led upwards to a balcony and the second floor. From the looks of it, the entirety of the second floor only consisted of a small portion of the building's southern end.

A sudden flash of movement sprung out from behind one of the crates. A man dressed in muddy clothes pointed a heavy pistol at Vaughn. Instinctively, the lieutenant strafed left while raising his own weapon. A short burst of fire erupted from his rifle's muzzle, echoing the single shot fired from the enemy's pistol.

Vaughn felt the impact of the shot as only a weak push against his left shoulder. A few centimeters from his body, near the shoulder, there showed what appeared to be a sudden blue crackle of electricity. His shields had blocked the bullet, but the man with the pistol was not so lucky. Vaughn had been trained to fire in bursts long enough to deplete an enemy's shields, but this man either had none, or didn't have the time to equip them when the attack started. Without even body armor, the bullets from the N7 Typhoon transformed the man's torso into scarlet ruin. He wordlessly slumped to the ground.

From behind Vaughn came the sudden hiss of pressurized gas as Morales fired his single concussive shot. At the top of the stairs another man had appeared, his assault rifle aimed at Vaughn's head. But before the trigger could be pulled, the concussive shot blasted into the shoulder opposite where the man held the weapon, spinning him off balance. He yelled out in pain, and as he stumbled, he tripped forward down the flight of stairs. With a cry of alarm, the bandit slipped over the staircase railing and landed with a thud on the concrete floor below. There was a single groan and then nothing. Morales ran to kick the weapon away from the man's unconscious body.

"To get to the second floor, pick any of the three southern-most windows." Vaughn spoke in a rapid voice, relaying the information to Alexei over his helmet's communicator.

"Roger that. Just give me the word."

Three men burst from the doorway at the top of the stairs, then opened fire while ducking behind the thick steel railings of the balcony. Vaughn dove behind a supply crate while Morales crouched under the stairwell. A steady hail of gunfire rained down upon the two soldiers, utterly suppressing any return fire.

"Now!" Vaughn shouted.

* * *

Alexei Volkov took a deep breath and exhaled until his lungs were free of air._ "I hate this part," _he reflected gloomily.

He knew the science well enough to know that what came next was safe, but it always seemed to leave him a bit nauseous, and thinking about what was being done to his body made him uneasy. Cerberus shock troopers were often equipped with what was colloquially named a "jetpack". In truth, the device merely allowed a trooper to descend from great heights without breaking his legs, rather than propel him upwards. As a shock trooper, Alexei had used such devices many times, until he had been selected to prototype an experimental version. When he left Cerberus, he had made sure to bring this prototype with him.

Alexei stood a few meters from the wall, on the opposite side of the building from where Vaughn had entered. He concentrated and formed an egg-shaped biotic barrier around his body, to occupy the same space as his existing kinetic shields. A sudden burst of pressurized gas released from the pack he wore, and a negative electric current passed through the modified, high-density eezo core. He felt a sudden sensation of weightlessness as the mass of his body plummeted. Alexei shot up into the air, reaching the zenith of his flight as he reached the second-floor window. Before he could fall back to earth, he released a secondary burst of gas to hurl himself forward and through the narrow gap. There was barely enough room for a man of Alexei's size to fit through such a window, but he had timed the maneuver to perfection. As his body made contact with the floor, he rolled to break his fall. And when he came upright, the M-300 Claymore shotgun was already prepared to fire.

The corporal held the shotgun with just his left hand. In a deafening blast, the weapon fired once in the space between two surprised bandits several meters away. Recoil from the gun was like the kick of a horse, but Alexei's immense strength held the weapon in check. The tiny hyper-accelerated particles scattered in the air, and both enemies went down in fine mists of blood. The devastation of the single shot burned out the thermal clip, but Alexei already held the replacement in his right hand. Sensing movement to the side, he turned his newly loaded shotgun and fired again.

This new enemy had shielding, and when the projectiles made contact, his whole body seemed enveloped by the crackling blue distortion – but only for a second. Almost instantly, the shielding failed under the onslaught, and the unfortunate man fell backwards with a wet thud. A bandit sheltering next to one of the western windows turned to gape at Alexei in disbelief. But in his shock, the bandit had forgotten about the snipers, and thus jerked forward as a bullet entered his skull. That left two more enemies in the room. Concentrating his biotic energy, Alexei released a shockwave that knocked the remaining bandits backwards, slamming them against the walls. He then sprinted for the door that led out onto the balcony.

The three men on the balcony halted their fire at the sound of shotgun blasts. As the corporal came through the door, they instinctively turned and leveled their weapons at him.

The instant Alexei had first opened fire, Vaughn and Morales knew it was time for them to start moving. Morales was first to the top of the stairs, and he fired two precise rounds that caught an enemy in the throat. The bandit, a gurgling sound bubbling from his mouth, fell to his knees and dropped his weapon. Vaughn followed and fired his lone concussive shot, this one catching a man full force in the chest. The might of the small explosion knocked the man to the ground, sliding him along until a wall brought him to a halt. He lay stunned for a second and then coughed, gasping for breath and groaning at the pain of several broken ribs. The final enemy managed to fire a few shots at Alexei, but the large man's barrier and shields had yet to be hit and so they held. Alexei stretched out a hand enveloped in cerulean biotic energy. The remaining bandit found himself pulled forward violently, right onto a waiting fist.

The three Alliance soldiers rushed into the larger room, but the two surviving bandits merely raised their hands in mute surrender. Discarded weapons lay at their feet. They stared at the large ex-Cerberus soldier in wide-eyed fright and backed away nervously when he stepped forward to confiscate their guns. Alexei proceeded to restrain them with magnetic arm and leg shackles. And with that, it was over. The entirety of the raid had lasted less than five minutes.

Vaughn gazed at the bloody corpses strewn about the room and pulled off his helmet. The fight was over, and he started to feel pangs of remorse at the need for killing these men. However, he knew such feelings were the luxuries of victory – a victory in which all his men had survived unharmed.

"Sir." Morales whispered and motioned his gun toward the back of the room. There was yet another door, though this one was still shut.

By the dimensions of the building and this room, Vaughn judged that this door couldn't have led to anything other than a small closet. The knob began to turn. Wordlessly, the three soldiers spread out, so as not to form a single target for whoever came from within. With a quiet click, the door opened, and then began to squeak as it was pushed forward.

Two women stepped from the dark closet. One was human, with unkempt brown hair and a haggard face. She held a pistol aimed at the head of the woman in front of her. The hostage was a drell. The alien woman's large obsidian eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the light. As the drell moved, Vaughn could see that her scales were a milky white, with subtle pink accents on her cheeks, forehead, and neck.

Vaughn cursed to himself; there had been no reports of a hostage. If he **had** known, he would've prioritized her safety in planning the attack.

The woman with the gun glanced at her dead comrades on the floor and scowled. "You Alliance lapdog bastards." She spat her words at Vaughn, staring at him with pure hatred.

"My name is Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn of the Systems Alliance Civil Security. Put down the gun." He kept his voice flat and emotionless, though he could feel anger rising inside him. In his mind, he began to judge the distance between him and the hostage-taker, wondering if he could control the gun's muzzle climb for a single shot between her eyes. The woman seemed to guess what Vaughn was thinking, for she pulled the drell back until she was safe in the alien's shadow. Vaughn noted that she took care to stay out of sight from the western windows, where Sterling and Mullins were undoubtedly trying to get her in their sights.

"Goddamn cowards," was the only answer Vaughn received from her.

"That's fine talk coming from someone who steals medicine and points guns at civilians," Alexei growled, and Vaughn shot him a warning look. The lieutenant didn't want to provoke any rash action in such a delicate situation.

The woman gave a mocking laugh. "That's a little hypocritical, isn't it? I recognize Cerberus tech when I see it, tin man." Alexei said nothing, but Vaughn could notice his friend tensing. During the Reaper War, Cerberus had committed butchery against thousands of civilians. It was later discovered that this was due to Reaper influence, but the issue was a sensitive one to Alexei.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Vaughn chimed in quickly, attempting to change the subject back to negotiation.

"My name is Commander Kate Sinclair. Well, **former **commander," the woman corrected herself with a bitter sarcasm. Her eyes lingered upon the N7 insignia on Vaughn's chest. "N7, huh? I would congratulate you on your little victory, but we all know tin man here did most of the work. But it's good to see what lengths the Alliance will go to in order to crush resistance."

"What do you **want**?" Vaughn repeated the question again, but this time he let an edge of hostility slip into his voice.

"What we deserve," Sinclair replied as if the answer were obvious. "We survive the Reapers – and for what? The Systems Alliance takes everything. The Alliance was meant to represent us to the galaxy and nothing more. They were meant to answer to the nations of Earth, not dominate them."

"The Reapers wiped out all forms of human government," Morales protested. "Most of the relay network is still down, and the Alliance is the only one left with any semblance of organization. They saved us from the Reapers."

"They let it happen by ignoring the threat in the first place," Sinclair responded with derision. "We know now that there was evidence of the invasion three years before the Reapers showed at our doorstep. But everybody just stuck their heads in the sand. And in the seven years since the war, how much actual talk have you heard about transferring power? We elect our civilian advisers, sure, but the Admirals make all the decisions. They pay lip service about how they'll cede power when Earth is fully rebuilt, but that will take a whole generation. And by then, nobody will remember or care how it once was."

"So what the hell do you hope to accomplish with ambushes? With hostage-taking? With murder?" Vaughn spoke with equal fervor, but in truth, he had been surprised at the commander's words. He was used to taking orders from the Systems Alliance, having done so for much of his life. And public opinion of the Systems Alliance was incredibly high, as most people could still recall the night when Admiral Hackett had led a galactic fleet to rescue Earth. Yet despite that, he knew there was a grain of truth in Commander Sinclair's words. The Systems Alliance had imposed what was basically martial law: regulating the supplies people received, where they could settle, and whether they could travel off-world.

"If they won't give us freedom, we take it. We find one of the ruined cities they abandoned out west and build something for ourselves. But for that, we need supplies. Nobody had to die at that supply convoy, but your people fired first."

"And what about her?" Vaughn jerked his head toward the drell woman.

"We don't have doctors – yet. We needed somebody to make sense of all that medicine in those crates. This drell here has been very helpful in that respect."

"You speak of freedom and yet you'll **enslave** people?"

Sinclair paused. "It's a necessary, temporary evil. We'll borrow her for a few months, and then release her. Hell, we'll even compensate her for her efforts. We're not like the damn Alliance, who steal power and cling to it indefinitely. For all we fought for, and for all we lost on Earth while the damned Alliance was playing politics – they owe us!" Her voice rose to a shout, and Vaughn noticed for the first time that she was perspiring and swaying ever so slightly. But then her voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "They owe us…" Sinclair shook her head. "But I will admit that the drell wasn't my idea. This is a human matter."

"She is correct. It was that one who led the ambush and took me prisoner." It was the drell who spoke this time, motioning at one of the corpses whose blood had begun to pool at their feet. Her voice was quiet and had the distinct raspy tone that all drell possessed.

Sinclair's face contorted with anger at the reminder of the corpses at her feet. "Keep quiet!" Her voice hissed with venom and for a heartbeat, Vaughn was worried the pistol would fire.

"You are under extreme stress and suffering from a fever. You are not well and require medical attention," the drell persisted in a calm tone of voice. Her head half-turned to look into the ex-commander's wild eyes. "It would seem that some of your comrades also require medical attention."

"I said to shut up!" Sinclair moved to strike the drell with the butt of her gun in a swift, chopping motion. Vaughn nearly took the opportunity to fire a shot at the woman, but a sudden rush of movement made him hesitate.

The drell spun around, pushing away the pistol with a strength that seemed surprising for a person of her slim frame. The gun fired once, but the shot embedded itself harmlessly in the floor. The drell moved in a blur. With movements that reminded Vaughn of a dancer's grace, the drell moved behind her captor and placed a single hand on her neck. The hand glowed with biotic energy that seemed to vanish just as soon as it appeared. Sinclair went limp – the gun falling from her hand and her body falling to the floor. The drell caught the woman and then lowered her in an unexpectedly gentle motion.

Vaughn and Alexei both rushed forward with their weapons ready. They stopped as the drell held up a delicate hand.

"She will trouble you no longer." Her eyes locked with Vaughn's. "I was not lying when I said she required medical attention. There are other wounded in this building. Bring them to me, call for your shuttle, and I will do what I can." Her orders given, she turned back to the unconscious woman and began to monitor her pulse.

For a moment, Vaughn was stunned by the turn of events. He had been sure that more death was inevitable that morning, but the drell had moved with such speed and precision he had never seen before. He motioned to Alexei and Morales. "Get Sterling and Mullins, and then bring the wounded up here." The two men nodded and hurried out the door.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn." The drell spoke, but did not turn from the examination of her patient. "My name is Amari Draylos. I believe that I – and the Council – owe you a great debt."


	2. Salvage

CHAPTER TWO: Salvage

It had started to rain. Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn and Corporal Alexei Volkov sat waiting in the shuttle, listening to the patter of raindrops interspersed with the occasional muffled expletive from the pilot outside. Three shuttles had been called in after Vaughn's successful assault on the warehouse. The first had been carrying a team of medics with emergency supplies of medi-gel and were subsequently loaded with the dead and wounded. The drell, Amari Draylos, boarded this shuttle as well – never far from her new patients who had once been her captors. Vaughn had wanted to talk more about her presence on Earth and what she had meant about the Council owing him a debt. However, after her brief introduction, she had politely asked him to leave the room so she could work.

The second and third shuttles carried Systems Alliance personnel who began to load the retrieved supplies onto the land vehicles the bandits had stolen. Privates Mullins, Sterling, and Morales embarked on one shuttle, ready to travel back to their postings at bases further south. Before they had left, Vaughn shook the hands of all three men, commending them on a successful mission. It had been years since Vaughn had fought alongside trained Alliance marines, and he was proud of their diligent efficiency.

Stepping aboard the final shuttle, Vaughn and Alexei had been prepared to head back north, to their own assignments in the refugee city of New Albany. Pre-flight checks, however, revealed that the coolant pumps to the starboard thrusters were down, and so the shuttle pilot found himself cursing in the rain as he tried to repair the damage. Using the aircraft for short-range transportation was something of a luxury, yet Vaughn knew that many of the shuttle parts were scavenged from derelict ships ruined by the war. An engineer back home had once joked to him that many of the shuttles were simply held together by 'duct tape and a prayer'.

Vaughn grimaced as another string of curses sounded from outside. He wryly reflected that it might be safer to walk back to New Albany, despite the varren-infested countryside. But then he yawned, for an all-night march – coupled with the fading presence of adrenaline in his system – was quickly leaving him tired. A muscle in his neck had started to ache from the fatigue, and he gingerly tried to stretch it.

"You should catch some sleep now – Captain Vincent's going to want a report the second we get back." Alexei, his dark eyes twinkling, was watching his commanding officer's discomfort with grim enjoyment.

"Just bored, that's all," Vaughn lied. He didn't want to appear weak in front of his friend, who always seemed fine on minimal sleep. The lieutenant had a suspicion that Alexei's Cerberus implants and augmentations were part of the reason.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it." Alexei began to pick at a hole in his armrest's faux-leather cushioning. "My god, I can't remember the last time I've seen a shuttle this bad. Piece of crap like this belongs in a scrapyard."

Vaughn shrugged. "I'm half-tempted to go outside and ask if that pilot needs any help."

"You?" Alexei snorted. "I remember a certain lieutenant who took twenty minutes to replace a simple circuit board, just to get one of those military rovers up and running."

Vaughn waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It was dark, and we were under fire. Besides, who can think about the proper wiring with **that** damn thing blasting my eardrums every few seconds?" He pointed at Alexei's shotgun, which hung on the wall's weapon rack.

The two men often traded friendly barbs when they were alone, irrespective of the difference in their rank. And while it was easier to smile about such events obscured by the mists of time, Vaughn started to remember how desperate that little skirmish had been years ago. _"Up to our eyeballs in Husks and Marauders and not a dozen thermal clips between us,"_ Vaughn thought, too distracted to hear Alexei grumble his retort. But then the lieutenant recalled that one of his soldiers had been wounded during their escape, and he had been forced to haul her into one of the back seats. She had died there – bled out. He struggled to remember her name. Over the months, so many had died to defeat the Reapers. _"For all we lost while the Alliance was playing politics… they owe us." _Commander Kate Sinclair's words crept into his mind.

"Alexei..." Vaughn's voice took on a more serious tone. "What did you think of Sinclair?" The lieutenant's face became hard as he mentioned the captured bandit leader.

Alexei frowned. "Her? What do you mean?"

"She seems convinced that the Alliance will never give up its hold on humanity's government. You ever wonder about that?"

"What? You worried that we're witnessing the rise of some military dictatorship, some grand human empire?" Alexei shook his head and lifted a hand, moving his index finger and thumb just slightly apart. "As a species, we came **this **close to extinction. Billions dead, and dozens of colonies missing when the relay network went down. Hell, even after seven years, things are still desperate enough that two war heroes have to risk their lives in a shuttle built out of scrap metal. It may not be perfect, but a firm grip on the wheel is how we rebuild. It's what humanity needs right now." Alexei was usually a dour man, but Vaughn knew the man was fiercely passionate when speaking of his ideals regarding mankind.

"We're war heroes now, are we?" Vaughn scoffed, but a smirk betrayed his amusement.

Alexei returned a cynical half-smile. "Damn straight. And if it weren't for the fact that this army only promotes bureaucrats, you and I would probably be admirals."

Vaughn considered Alexei's answer – about humanity's needs, **not** the prospect of being promoted to admiral. It was true that humanity's postwar progress was made possible by the Alliance's careful guidance. _"Security always comes at a price..."_ Vaughn sighed; he was in no mood to ponder and debate political philosophy. "You know," he said to Alexei. "I think you're right."

"So you're convinced, then?"

"Yeah. You've completely convinced me that I'll need some sleep if I'm going to spend my afternoon being lectured." Vaughn's eyelids were starting to feel heavy. "Wake me when we reach New Albany – if that poor wet bastard out there ever manages to fix the damn shuttle."

* * *

The trip back to New Albany proved uneventful, and as several weeks passed, the events of the warehouse began to drift from Vaughn's mind. He found himself settling back into his old routine as part of Civil Security. For the first few days, Vaughn had been hoping to hear back from Amari, but after he submitted his report, there was nothing aside from a formal notice of thanks from the Admiralty. Similarly, the news that was broadcast about the warehouse's events made no mention of the mysterious drell, or the specifics of Commander Sinclair's rebellious ambitions.

Vaughn's days were mostly spent coordinating his people throughout the city of New Albany. In a sense, the Systems Alliance Civil Security was a police force. They took charge of security for official Alliance buildings, but they were also responsible for patrolling streets and responding to any criminal complaints. In truth, there wasn't much criminal activity to contend with, for there was still a prevalent sense of postwar unity among the people. Reconstruction was key, and the city of New Albany was responsible for several factories, hydroelectric plants along the Hudson River, and a salvage yard where scrap from the ruins of Old Albany were still brought.

One icy morning, Vaughn was at the salvage yard, overseeing the processing of a Reaper Destroyer's corpse. Finding the dead monstrosities in the countryside was increasingly rare, but given the sheer number of Reapers that had attacked Earth, it wasn't surprising to still find them. Their husks were fragile – whatever the Crucible had done to the Reapers seemed to significantly weaken their metallic bodies. Initially, it had been hoped that the mysterious high-tensile alloy could be studied or reused, but scientists had soon found that almost none of the remains were useful. All that could be done was to dispose of the giant metal corpses.

Thankfully, indoctrination was no longer something to worry about, for there had been no new reports of the phenomenon since war's end. Vaughn had heard that victims of indoctrination were still undergoing significant mental treatment. The poor souls no longer heard the whispers of the Reapers, yet nothing had been left to replace those missing voices. The victims were left hollow. Still, if the Reaper War had taught the galaxy anything, it was the importance of hope.

Vaughn shoved his hands into the pockets just below his body armor's chest piece. It was his formal combat uniform, complete with the N7 insignia he had earned just before the war. The dark blue and gray hardsuit helped a little in keeping himself warm, but he had forgotten to bring gloves. Cursing himself for his forgetfulness, Vaughn paced a few steps to try and generate some warmth. The crisp air resounded with the noise of machinery as workers sliced through the dead machine's carapace. Vaughn caught a glimpse of the Reaper's lifeless face with its cracked optical hemisphere. He scowled, feeling the reemergence of bad memories.

"Are you expecting a fight, or do you always dress in body armor?" A familiar voice called out from behind Vaughn. He turned, and to his surprise, the woman he had spent so much time puzzling over was there, just several meters away. Amari Draylos smiled at him with warmth that seemed to dispel the morning's dismal chill.

The drell wore a dark gray overcoat with a hood pulled over the reptilian frills on top of her head. Her pale face with its rosy accents watched him from underneath the hood, the color of her scales standing out in stark contrast to her coat. Alexei was standing a few paces behind her, yet true to the man's stoic nature he seemed unaffected by the cold.

Vaughn was taken aback by Amari's unexpected appearance, but he composed himself and answered in what he deemed his best officer's tone. "Standard procedure, ma'am. When processing a dead Reaper, it's required that at least one combat-ready Alliance soldier be present."

"I see. But please, call me Amari." Stepping next to him, the drell hugged the overcoat closer to her body and watched the salvage workers toil away. Alexei stayed back and let the two have their private conversation. "They seem rather cheerful, don't they?" Amari asked, referring to the workers who laughed and joked as they labored.

"I imagine there's something cathartic about cutting up a Reaper and then tossing him into the trash bin," observed Vaughn.

"But you seem tense, am I correct?"

"_Am I that transparent?" _Vaughn stiffened. "I was on Earth during the occupation, and I saw my fair share of those monsters in action."

"Oh." Amari pursed her lips, seeming to realize how uncomfortable she had made him. "Forgive me please; I sometimes forget that not every person I speak to is a patient." Amari smiled and gestured to Alexei. "Corporal Volkov was kind enough to show me where to find you. I spoke with Captain Vincent when I arrived here, and she's agreed to have you show me the city."

Hearing his name, Alexei stepped forward. "I'll keep an eye on things here, sir." The ex-Cerberus soldier gave a curt nod to Vaughn.

Vaughn accepted, and led the drell back toward the city's center. Most of the city was busy at the factories or warehouses, but a few people were present on the sidewalks. The buildings were new and nearly identical, all having been constructed around the same time five years prior. The wide, tinted glass windows and fresh ceramic paints reflected the late autumn sun to an almost dazzling glare. The roads and pedestrian walkways between the buildings were smooth and even surfaces, made of the tiny micro-solar panels that brought power to much of the city during the day. It was an impressive sight, but Vaughn knew that if one were to look thirty kilometers in any direction, there would be ruins where only the weeds prospered.

"Captain Vincent didn't offer to show you the city herself?" asked Vaughn. Captain Amelia Vincent was hardly the type of person to avoid off-world guests. She rarely missed the chance to show off what New Albany had accomplished since the war.

"Oh, she was very welcoming. But I mentioned that I specifically wanted to talk to you," Amari said. Vaughn opened his mouth to inquire further, but the drell continued. "I must say, I'm rather unused to this frigid weather. Is there somewhere warmer we could go?"

Vaughn led Amari toward a small coffee shop near the town's residential district. He ordered a coffee for himself, but the drell was ecstatic on learning that the shop also carried green tea.

"I spent a few months studying at a medical center near Beijing," she explained as they cupped their hands around the steaming mugs. "There was a brilliant doctor there – a Dr. Jiang – and he introduced me to the drink. I imagine I have to be a bit more careful around the steam being a drell and all, but I can't resist." The beverages were made from freeze-dried powders that tasted bitter, but Amari apparently didn't mind.

"So you're a doctor, studying on Earth?" Vaughn inquired.

"Ah, yes. I'm primarily a surgeon, but I've done extensive study on internal medicine as well."

"And your focus is on humans?"

"Focus? Not quite." Amari took a sip from her drink. "I've also spent time on Palaven, Thessia, Sur'Kesh, and just about every major homeworld we still have access to. As you know, we drell possess eidetic memories, which is quite a useful trait to have when learning multiple alien biologies. My proficiency in biotics has also been helpful."

"Your biotics? Like, what you did back at that warehouse?"

Amari nodded. "Some drell possess biotic abilities, but mine developed a bit differently. I'm not exactly capable of throwing somebody across the room, but for what I lack in brute force, I make up for in precision." To demonstrate this, she extended a finger and pointed at a bowl of sugar cubes that sat between them. Her fingertip glowed with biotic energy, and as she touched one of the cubes, it promptly separated into nine smaller pieces, perfect and identical. "With the right medical imaging devices, I can sometimes perform surgery without breaking the skin."

"So you're a... biotic surgeon?" Vaughn's eyebrows peaked in surprise. "I've never heard of anybody like that before."

"The asari have records of several throughout their history." Amari shrugged humbly. "But to delicately move arteries and organs with mass effect fields, as well as make incisions with finely edged barriers... it requires delicacy. Such fine control over biotic abilities is rare, but it can make the surgery go very quickly, allowing one to treat a larger number of patients. It also helps when operating in environments that may lack sterile equipment."

"So… you can look at a patient, and start cutting away as soon as you note the species," Vaughn concluded.

"Exactly. A drell never forgets." Amari gave a short titter of laughter.

"And the Council has been arranging for you to study alien physiology?" Vaughn continued.

"They have indeed."

Vaughn nodded, yet something about this arrangement seemed unusual to him. "I understand the value of having a biotic surgeon with a perfect memory, but for the Council to take such an interest and spend all these resources – do they have something special in mind for you?"

"It... it is not my place to say, unfortunately. I would tell you if I could." Amari's hands fumbled at her cup and the conversation settled into an awkward silence. "I'm sorry," she added after a few heartbeats, giving Vaughn a sheepish look.

"I understand," Vaughn said, despite his pang of disappointment. "Being 'under orders' and all that – it's the same here in the Systems Alliance."

"You're an N7, right? I haven't met many of those." Amari brightened at the prospect of changing the subject.

"It's an elite rank that not many earn, and the war didn't do much to help our numbers," Vaughn admitted. "But with so many postwar resources tied up in the reconstruction, the program hasn't been reinstated yet. And so, the few of us you see now are just relics from a different time, I suppose."

"Just like the Council's Spectre program," Amari observed. "The war... what was it like for you? I was only 15 at the time, safe in one of the underwater shelters on Kahje. I missed most of the war... but I suppose I should be thankful for that."

"I..." Vaughn began, but paused. He always felt awkward talking about the war, unless it was with people that had been there themselves and could understand the complex emotions behind it. However, there was something disarming about Amari, perhaps from her years of honing a doctor's bedside manner. "I led a resistance group that operated over the east coast of North America. It was guerrilla tactics, mostly. We would hit them hard and run like hell. We had a nice little network set up so that if a force of ground troops went on the move, we could be there to strike."

"You also attacked a few processing camps, correct?" Amari must have realized the look Vaughn gave her, for she hastily continued. "Alliance Command was generous enough to let me read a few reports from Earth, including yours."

"Right... I mean, all we could ever really manage was to rescue a couple dozen prisoners at a time." Vaughn shook his head. "And it was never easy; it always came at a price."

"I know it must have been difficult making choices like that." Amari paused, seeming to consider her next question. "Leading so many people in such a dire, uncertain situation... what was that like?"

"_Is this what passes for casual conversation with the drell?" _Vaughn wondered. He had a peculiar feeling: a vague sense of deja vu, in that he was reminded of his pre-N7 interviews years ago. Sipping his coffee to buy himself a few seconds, he thought about the question. It was such a nebulous concept, one that he had never really put into words.

"Well... when you know you're fighting a war that you're slowly losing, it's tough. People look to you for answers, and if they don't have that confidence, many of them will just break and run. And if that happens in battle, they're as good as dead. So, you have to earn their trust, and they can't see you having any doubts or worries. But when they have that trust in you – when they have that confidence? You'd be amazed at what even a group of lightly armed civilians can accomplish."

"I can only imagine." Amari nodded fervently.

"_There's something more going on here," _Vaughn mused to himself. _"There's no way this visit is just some simple thank-you."_

The pair continued to talk for the better part of an hour, discussing the ongoing projects in New Albany and of all the places Amari had visited during her time on Earth. At the end, Vaughn offered to pay for their drinks, but Amari insisted she had her travel budget afforded by the Council. Then, assuring him that she could find her way back to the city hall building, Vaughn was once again left alone. Alone, with more unanswered questions about the enigmatic drell woman.

* * *

A few days later, Vaughn found himself called into the office of Captain Amelia Vincent. Ever since Amari's visit, the captain had seemed slightly annoyed with the lieutenant, as if he were somehow to blame for monopolizing the drell's attention. Her thin lips angled downward upon seeing him, seeming to suggest that her irritation had not yet abated.

"Lieutenant Vaughn." She stood up from her desk, holding a slim folder in her hands. "I have just gotten word from Rear Admiral Shankar. You have an appointment to speak with the Council."

"Ma'am?" Vaughn had expected something to come from Amari's visit, but certainly not an audience with the Council.

"I was not given further details," Vincent said. "You have your appointment and I suggest you keep it."

"Yes, ma'am." Vaughn nodded. "I suppose I'll be traveling to Washington, to use the QEC and speak with them there?"

"No." The captain handed him the folder. Inside, it contained the necessary paperwork for off-world travel. "They would like to speak to you in-person. You will be boarding a ship tomorrow, bound for the Serpent Nebula."

* * *

Author's Note: The concept of a biotic surgeon is something I thought up, but I think it seems feasible. I know working with a bunch of original characters might not appeal to a lot of readers, but hopefully they'll be interesting enough.

Anyway, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Keelah se'lai!


	3. The Cathedral

Author's Note: I realize it's been a little over a month since the last update, and I'll try to get a little bit better about that. My bad!

Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated!

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: The Cathedral

Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn stood alone on the port observation deck of the SSV Talavera. He stared into the shifting haze of the frigate's FTL bubble, and as he watched, it occurred to him that the last time he was aboard a space-faring vessel was eight years ago. He had been fresh out of N7 training then – eager to serve the Alliance, and itching to demonstrate his abilities in combat. And then the Reapers came. Relative to most conflicts in history, the Reaper War was actually quite short, but it left behind an astonishing body count and a devastated galaxy. Vaughn's eagerness for battle had not lasted long.

"FTL core disengaged," a voice called out over the ship's intercom. "Now approaching the Charon Relay."

There was a feeling of deceleration as the universe outside the viewport took on a more familiar appearance. A single Alliance cruiser glided silently on patrol between the Talavera and the relay, her hull silhouetted against the luminous eezo core.

_"They can only spare a single cruiser," _Vaughn observed, lamenting to himself the scarcity of Alliance ships. The frigate veered past the cruiser on its approach, giving Vaughn a brief glimpse of the relay before the change in approach vector blocked his view. It was amazing – looking at the relays now, nobody would ever have guessed what the Crucible had done to them.

Vaughn had read the reports. After the Crucible fired, crews had been sent to inspect the damaged relays. To their surprise, the broken gyroscopic rings had not gotten far – they had been found simply hovering around the depleted eezo core. After such a violent explosion, it was expected that the rings would have scattered in all directions into the void. However, two hundred meters from the relay, they had inexplicably stopped. The construction material of the rings remained a mystery, but it became apparent that there was no complicated circuitry inside. Reassembling them only required precision welding, which was simple enough, yet a tremendous supply of element zero was needed to replenish the core. The process was conceptually simple, and yet it was incredibly resource-intensive. In all likelihood, this was the reason why so much of the relay network still remained dark. Smaller colonial systems – if they had any survivors – probably couldn't manage.

The Talavera shuddered as it was ensnared by the mass relay's pull. There came a quiet humming noise emanating from the hull itself, and in an instant, the empty space outside the viewport changed.

"Mass relay jump successful," the intercom crackled once more.

Through the viewport, the luminous clouds of the Serpent Nebula cast dancing shadows throughout the observation deck. A single asari dreadnought and two turian frigates hovered on patrol, and the Talavera came to a halt so that the proper pass codes could be transmitted to the Council ships. Vaughn looked past them.

_"There it is…" _Not far from the mass relay, the eerie figure of the Citadel seemed to beckon to the waiting ships, with the five massive wards resembling outstretched arms. Two of those arms were held in place by tethers, having detached from the main ring of the Presidium when the Crucible fired. Vaughn had heard rumors that plans were being made to reconstruct the massive station, but it was evidently not a high priority. Officially, this was due to a lack of resources, yet Vaughn suspected that people were still wary of the Citadel.

In the final days of the war, the Reapers had captured the Citadel and brought it to Earth. But afterward, details emerged that key Citadel defenses had been deactivated – by the Citadel itself. The station's undiscovered core had housed a Reaper AI that turned the Battle of the Serpent Nebula into a one-sided bloodbath. For months, refugees had streamed to the Citadel in droves seeking safety, filling the great haven to capacity. Above Earth, that shelter became a slaughter house.

_"Too many ghosts…" _The Talavera began to veer away from the Council ships, and the FTL drive began to fire up once more – to take Vaughn to Bekenstein, the new seat of power in the galaxy.

* * *

"Not pretty, is it?" asked the shuttle pilot. "This used to be the capital. But believe it or not, they've done a decent job cleaning it up. You should look at some of the other cities here – not that there's much left to see."

As the shuttle passed through the clouds above Bekenstein, Vaughn was able to take a better look at the landscape. Bekenstein had been a world conquered by the Reapers when they had captured the Citadel. But rather than send landing parties to harvest the population, they had chosen to bombard it from orbit instead. Craters marred the countryside, and the rubble heaps from this height reminded Vaughn of burial mounds.

"I took shore leave here a few times, back when this was an Alliance planet," the pilot continued. "Seems a bit of a shame that the Alliance sold the place to the Council, especially after all the credits and engineering that went into clearing a path through the nebula. Sold it for cheap too, I hear."

"There are a lot of depopulated planets out there," Vaughn said. "It's a real buyer's market these days."

The shuttle touched down on a landing pad north of the ruined city. On a hill to the west, a burgeoning city sat proudly, its neoteric sheen reminding Vaughn of New Albany. Further north of this spaceport and city, there was a mountain range that stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see. And built into the mountainside closest to the spaceport, a gleaming white monolith of a building loomed above Vaughn and the pilot.

"Welcome to the Cathedral, lieutenant." The pilot stepped beside Vaughn and they both gazed up at the ivory pillar. Then the sound of footsteps drew Vaughn's attention, as two Council Security officers walked onto the landing pad. They beckoned and led Vaughn down a staircase to an underground railway.

Vaughn had read up on the Council headquarters during his trip on the Talavera. 'The Cathedral' was more of an informal nickname given by human visitors. After the restoration of the Council, the building had been named the 'High Council Chambers'; there was an apparent unwillingness to call it the Citadel and dredge up unpleasant memories.

Bekenstein was chosen as the Council's home planet due to the fact that the Serpent Nebula was still the center of the relay network. The planet had originally housed many of the galaxy's richest human tycoons and entrepreneurs, and one of them had evidently built a massive bunker into the mountainside. Yet, it seemed that he or she had never gotten the chance to use it, for the rediscovered Bekenstein had been a planet of the dead, and the bunker was found empty. And so, the Council had appropriated it as their new meeting place. The long-dead architect of the bunker had spent an exorbitant amount of money decorating his masterpiece, particularly the main hall: marble pillars, high-arched ceilings, and artificial lights through colorfully tinted windows. Nobody knew whether the effect was intentional, but it gave many humans the distinct impression of the antique cathedrals back on Earth. The nickname became so prevalent among humans that some aliens had begun to adopt it as well.

"Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn?"

As Vaughn stepped from the railway car, he was greeted by a cheerful female voice. He looked up, and he nearly gave a start at seeing the woman in front of him.

The smiling woman on the platform had shoulder-length auburn hair, freckled alabaster skin, and a pair of vibrant green eyes. For a moment, Vaughn wanted to speak the name that jumped to his lips, but he caught himself. This woman was too young, slightly shorter, and did not possess the lean strength of the woman known as hero throughout the galaxy. Despite the striking resemblance, this was not the deceased Commander Shepard.

"I'm Councilor Adrienne Chevalier; I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." She offered a hand, and Vaughn shook it as he tried to hide his initial surprise.

"Councilor? I wasn't aware that Atticus Boyle had stepped down," said Vaughn.

"Well, technically he hasn't retired yet, but they should be making the official announcement in the next few days. You don't need to be concerned, however. I've already taken over most of his duties." Chevalier led him away from the platform and through several security checkpoints manned by grim-faced C-Sec officers. They then came to an elevator through which they descended even further into the mountain. "The building above ground is used as a living quarters for the various councilors and diplomats that reside here," she explained. "When we arrive at the lower levels, you'll need to wait in the Council Hall for a short period while we discuss preliminary issues. It shouldn't be too long, I promise." The councilor flashed him a dazzling smile.

"You know, nobody's filled me in on what's happening," Vaughn replied. "I'd really like to know what I'm getting myself into before I meet the Council."

"I wish I could. Unfortunately, the whole matter is quite classified, and the Council doesn't want anything discussed outside of the Assembly Room. Don't worry though, nobody's expecting you to come prepared."

Vaughn resisted the urge to probe further, even though the frustration of being left in the dark was beginning to irk him. However, he figured there was no point in fishing for information when he was so close to learning the truth anyway.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the massive hall for which the Cathedral had received its nickname. There were more C-Sec officers standing like statues between the columns, but unlike the guards at the railway station, these men and women were unarmed. Diplomats and aides of nearly every galactic race were present, bustling in and out of the side meeting rooms and casually chatting beneath the high arches.

"I'll send your omni-tool a message when it's time. Then, you'll need to head through those large doors at the opposite end of the hall. Don't wander too far!" With a final wave, Chevalier pushed into the crowd and was gone.

Vaughn walked into the hall, unsure of what he was supposed to do next. He felt out of place, plainly aware of the fact that he a soldier in a sea of politicians. _"If I recall correctly, the old Citadel had a few bars on the Presidium," _Vaughn thought. _"There's got to be somewhere here I can get a drink…"_

"I have a sneaking suspicion that our Councilor Chevalier isn't a natural redhead." A female turian came alongside Vaughn, matching his gait. "Your human politicians are certainly eager to remind us of the legendary Commander Shepard." She shrugged. "But maybe I'm wrong; I'm not familiar with the hair that you humans possess."

Vaughn stopped and turned to look at his new companion. She was about his height, and wore the common wide-collared suit that most turians wore. Her carapace was a yellowish color, but when it caught the light, her turian flesh sparkled to give her an almost golden appearance. Streaks of black traced the rim of her eyes and down the bridge of her flat nose. She smiled at him – or at least Vaughn hoped it was a smile, for the rows of turian fangs were a disconcerting sight.

"I take it you don't like our new human councilor?" he asked cautiously.

"On the contrary, I think she's one of the most tolerable people here." The woman started forward again, tacitly forcing Vaughn to follow her. "She may appear kind and sweet, but she's not afraid to bear her talons – so to speak." The turian chuckled. "You know, it's nice to have a new face down here, and it's especially nice to have another soldier around."

It took Vaughn a moment to realize that she was referring to him. "You know who I am?"

"Nope. But you're clearly not a politician – you've got 'soldier' written all over you." She halted and gave him a formal turian salute. "Nyla Amentrius, of Palaven's Fifth Cabal."

"Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn, Systems Alliance Civil Security," Vaughn responded. "Cabal? A biotic? What's an elite soldier like you doing here?"

"Did you happen to notice the C-Sec officers in this section?" Nyla gestured to the silent, unarmed guards standing across the hall. "Thanks to the betrayal of a certain Councilor Udina, anything more than a stun baton is strictly forbidden this far into Council Chambers. Of course, the councilors still worry, so who better to protect you than a living weapon? Nobody talks about it, but every councilor secretly hires a biotic with military experience onto their aide staff. I'm pretty sure I can point them all out to you too."

"Why all the concern? Are they expecting trouble?"

Nyla shrugged. "Nothing specific. But what Udina did shocked a lot of people. There was a lot of clamoring to make this a more neutral location."

"Still seems a little paranoid, if you ask me."

"They're politicians, what can you expect?"

"I don't know… it just doesn't exactly match up to the 'golden age of peace and cooperation' they like to go on about," Vaughn said.

Nyla stopped and then glanced about to make sure nobody could overhear. "Cooperation, huh? Well, if you're here to see the Council, I suppose I should let you in on a little secret. The Council puts on a nice face for the public, but they aren't **exactly** a unified front. Do you remember back when the Council was restored to power?"

Vaughn paused to think. During the war, there had been four races on the council: asari, salarian, turian, and human. But when the council reformed, they made the decision to include any other race that possessed a stable government: elcor, volus, quarian, krogan, hanar, and even the drell were given their own councilor. The only races missing were the vorcha who had no government and the batarians who were nearly extinct. Billions of batarians had died when the Reapers first entered the galaxy, and since most of the survivors had fled to the Citadel, they too perished as the Reapers took the Serpent Nebula. The few that were left either drifted aimlessly, or settled in small colonies on the planets of other races that would tolerate them. It was an ignoble fate for a species, and Vaughn couldn't help but feel pity.

"Yeah, I remember," said Vaughn. "The asari, salarians, turians, and humans all agreed to form a council including the other six races."

"Well, it was hardly a unanimous decision," Nyla confided. "You humans brought up the idea, and the Turian Hierarchy supported it – mainly because of how your people helped mine during the war. But the salarians didn't like that idea at all. Unlike everybody else, they came out of the Reaper War mostly intact, since the Reapers never got the chance to assault Sur'Kesh directly. They weren't too keen on having their political power diluted through expansion of the Council. The asari, meanwhile, were undecided. On some level they agreed with the salarians, the two being the oldest races in the galaxy." Nyla paused to shake her head. "Too often, they see the rest of us as children. But when it became apparent that political gridlock prevented anything from getting done, the asari decided to break the tie and vote with the turians and humans."

"I've never heard any of that before."

Nyla shrugged. "I don't want to make too much of it... after all, it's not like things get **too **heated. But that division in the Council still exists to this day. The other races are glad to be on the Council of course, but the elcor, hanar, and drell still tend to vote with the asari and the salarians. Sur'Kesh tends to be generous with them regarding supplies and medical aid. Meanwhile, voting with the turians and humans, there are the volus, quarians, and krogan. The volus naturally follow my people, while the actions of a certain human during the war earned the gratitude of many quarians and krogans."

"Commander Shepard…" Vaughn guessed.

"Councilor Chevalier is extremely competent, don't get me wrong," Nyla said. "But I imagine her resemblance to the late commander played a role when the Alliance picked her. You'll never stop rubbing that whole 'stopped the Reapers' thing in our faces, will you?" Despite her words, she nudged him playfully. "But... I guess we're glad to have you humans as allies."

"Well, Shepard didn't save the galaxy on her own," Vaughn replied with a smile. "Still, to think… just a few decades ago, your people and mine were on the brink of total war."

"We live in exciting times, Vaughn."

They stopped at a bench and proceeded to sit and watch people pass by. As they sat, Nyla would surreptitiously point out the occasional diplomat and mention a few interesting details about the person. Vaughn couldn't help but be impressed at the turian's insight into the galaxy's intricate political patchwork.

Nyla had just been in the middle of pointing out the volus councilor's biotic bodyguard, when she abruptly stopped. There was a brief commotion in the middle of the hall as a male quarian collided with two asari diplomats, scattering the data pads they had been carrying across the floor.

"I-I-" The quarian stammered, unable to finish his apology. One of the asari diplomats shook her head in exasperation, waving him away with an angry, dismissive hand.

Nyla leaned forward in her seat. "Now there's an interesting fellow."

"Who is he?" asked Vaughn, not recognizing the quarian.

"Does the name Ranid'Xola vas Turelia mean anything to you?"

"That's him?" Vaughn raised an eyebrow. It was hard to tell quarians apart due to similarities in the enviro-suits that they wore. Ranid's suit was the standard black, accented by green straps and plating.

"Yeah that's him all right," Nyla confirmed. "The 'Savior of the Serpent Nebula'..."

Ranid's story was well-known. When the Reapers conquered the Serpent Nebula, they obliterated the defending Council fleets and mercilessly bombarded Bekenstein. Only one ship had barely survived – a quarian ship, the Turelia. Reportedly, the entire starboard section of the ship had been blown off, and all ship systems including life support were taken offline to hide from Reaper sensors. Ranid and three other crew members were the only survivors, kept on the verge of life and death by shared oxygen tanks for their suits. Days passed as the ship lost heat to the emptiness of space. By the time the Crucible fired, Ranid was the only one left, half-frozen and low on oxygen.

The Serpent Nebula was the heart of the galaxy, linking together the homeworlds of most council races. If its relay hadn't been repaired, it would have taken a lengthy and uncertain expedition at FTL speeds to travel there. In fact, there had been the very real danger that the surviving turian and quarian fleets would starve in Alliance space. However, Ranid'Xola, the sole survivor of the Serpent Nebula, spent a full year and a half salvaging eezo and repairing the mass relay's rings. And he did it all alone.

"He spent over a year by himself in a sea of wrecked ships and dead friends; I guess it really did a number on him," the turian observed. "He clearly isn't comfortable around large groups of people, but the quarian councilor put him on his staff, just to keep him around for press conferences and public appearances. There's a lot of posturing that goes on around here."

"For a soldier, you seem to have a pretty good understanding of what goes on here," Vaughn commented.

"Well, they only keep me around to protect Councilor Valius. When the Council's in session, I don't have much else to do." Nyla sighed. "I don't mind it too much. I watch and I listen. It's fun to identify all the hidden pieces and rules to their little games. But, I will admit, this isn't exactly how I wanted to spend the rest of my military career."

"Well, it doesn't seem like there will be armed conflicts any time soon. You should enjoy the cushy desk job," Vaughn joked.

Nyla laughed. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm built for 'cushy desk jobs'."

There came a beeping noise from the device around Vaughn's wrist. He activated his omni-tool and read the brief message, confirming his suspicions.

"You better not keep them waiting," Nyla said, glancing over his shoulder. "Good luck. I hope we get the chance to meet again, Lieutenant Vaughn."

* * *

The Council Assembly Room was spacious, much larger than was necessary for a room that typically only held ten councilors. A wide semicircular table sat in the middle of the room, with the flat edge facing the entrance so that when Vaughn entered, all ten seated councilors watched him. Vaughn's footsteps echoed as he walked to a stainless steel podium a few feet from the table, uncomfortably aware that everybody in the room was staring at him in silence. He noticed a single guest sitting in the observer's section: Amari Draylos. She gave him an encouraging smile.

As Vaughn arrived at the podium, Councilor Chevalier was the first to speak. "Thank you for joining us Lieutenant Vaughn."

He nodded in response, scanning the faces of the councilors sitting at the table. Vaughn had no experience at reading alien facial expressions, but he was still hoping to find some evidence of friendliness in the room. Nyla had told him the names of all the councilors, but she assured him that only a few of the names were worth remembering. There was Councilor Valius, the turian representative, who seemed to give Vaughn an approving look. Councilor Rhela was the asari delegate, and she seemed to watch him with curiosity more than anything else. And then there was Councilor Osule. Vaughn had never seen a salarian look particularly unfriendly before, but if he had to guess as to how that appeared, the expression on Osule's face was the best fit. Nyla had told him a little bit about the salarian councilor. She was the dalatrass of a clan who had maneuvered their way to power after the war. Sur'Kesh was the richest postwar homeworld in the galaxy, and Osule never missed an opportunity to use that to her advantage.

"Before we begin, we should mention that everything revealed here today is strictly confidential," Councilor Rhela declared. "Failure to abide by this will incur strict measures. Do you accept?"

Vaughn hesitated, but then nodded. He knew that he didn't answer to the Council, yet the Systems Alliance would surely discipline him if he leaked anything.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." A voice spoke bitterly – it was Councilor Osule. "We have not yet confirmed that Lieutenant Vaughn is our candidate."

"We've had our preliminary votes, and everybody here has seen his military records," Councilor Chevalier protested. "By all means, let us observe protocol, but at this point we all know that this is just a formality."

"Oh? And what if the military records are incomplete?" Councilor Osule turned to Vaughn and smiled at him condescendingly. "Lieutenant, tell us about 'Glen Alpine', if you please."

Councilor Chevalier opened her mouth, but no words escaped her lips – her expression was a mixture of dread and bewilderment.

Vaughn was also shocked. However, he could also feel a cold anger, fueling him to speak. "What happened at Glen Alpine is none of your damn business."

"The Battle of Glen Alpine is classified, and irrelevant to these proceedings." Councilor Chevalier had found her voice. "And I would ask how the salarian government managed to get a hold of such information."

"By all accounts, Lieutenant Vaughn was the most senior officer present at the town of Glen Alpine. The Earth resistance in that sector suffered a terrible defeat with heavy losses. And I can only guess that the memory of such a terrible defeat haunts him to this day, for why else would he run to 'Civil Security' when the war ended?" Osule spoke with a sneering voice, imbuing the words 'Civil Security' with scorn and disdain. "And Councilor Chevalier, you forget – plenty found themselves stranded on Earth when the Reapers came, salarians included. People hear rumors when gross incompetence leads to a devastating defeat."

Vaughn clenched his fists, his rage beginning to boil. Councilor Osule was insulting him, knowing full well that Vaughn was unable to provide his side of the story due to Alliance protocol. The other councilors at the table were giving each other unsure looks. Amari also appeared concerned, and Vaughn could only guess at the thoughts that were passing through her mind.

"_Can't talk about classified missions without approval from the Admiralty," _Vaughn reminded himself. Then he shuddered inwardly at the memory of the battle. _"And Glen Alpine's about as classified as it gets..."_

"Lieutenant Vaughn, you have full authorization to speak of Glen Alpine," Councilor Chevalier interjected.

"Ma'am?" Vaughn wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Technically, Chevalier didn't have that kind of authority. _"Is candidacy for this mysterious Council project really so important?"_

"You are free to reveal anything relevant to the council. I will handle the consequences."

And there it was. The key phrase: 'relevant to the council'. Vaughn wasn't being given free rein to reveal everything, but just enough to put the council at ease.

Vaughn cleared his throat. "Glen Alpine is-… was the name of a small town. It was two months into the invasion, and things were going as poorly as you might expect. The Reapers… you could fight off their ground troops easily enough, but their Destroyers? All you could do against them was run, and we were tired of running. We had rescued some scientists who had theories on how to weaken the Reaper armor with an experimental weapon. And then there was this Reaper Destroyer we had been tracking, in the vicinity of Glen Alpine. We decided to go for it. I had my resistance fighters fan out to buy the scientists as much time as possible while they prepared their weapon."

Vaughn usually wasn't the type to have nightmares about the war, but the guilt of Glen Alpine still haunted him. He took a deep breath.

"My soldiers bought us time with their lives, 63 of them in total. But in the end, the experimental weapon didn't work." He paused and then shifted his gaze to make eye contact with each councilor at the table. "I take full responsibility for every man and woman I lost. But I've never forgotten what I learned that day."

"And that is?" asked Councilor Osule.

Vaughn fixed her with a cold stare. "I will never again underestimate my enemy."

A tense silence answered him.

"Well said, well said! Words for all of us to live by!" A hoarse chuckle broke the quiet. Councilor Urdnot Bakara, the krogan representative, was grinning with unbridled amusement. "So what? The Alliance classifies a mission because of an experimental weapon – that's hardly unusual."

"In war, gambles must be made," Councilor Valius said. "To fight the Reapers, we also pinned all our hopes on a single, experimental weapon. But we were just fortunate that the Crucible worked."

Folding her arms, Councilor Osule said nothing and eyed Vaughn warily. He also kept silent. There had been more to that day at Glen Alpine... But that was a secret the Alliance intended to keep, and he had said enough already. Vaughn glanced at Councilor Chevalier, still surprised. _"She's going to catch hell from the Admiralty for this," _Vaughn realized. _"Was this worth it?"_

"Well now..." There was a visible look of relief on Chevalier's face. "Now that this is cleared up, we can proceed. Miss Draylos, I believe we're ready for you."

Amari stepped forward and activated her omni-tool. An emitter built into the ceiling hummed to life, and in the air above the council table, a large projection of the galaxy map appeared. Red and blue lights were dotted throughout the spiral. Vaughn studied them for a moment before he understood their meaning: blue lights were known active relays and red lights belonged to derelict ones. The blue lights were much more common in Council space, but there were also a couple scattered around Rannoch on the opposite side of the galaxy – the crucial relay of the Caleston Rift linked the two territories together. However, red lights clearly outnumbered the blue, as most of the Terminus Systems and Attican Traverse were inaccessible.

"Lieutenant Vaughn, I assume you have heard of the recent Alliance expedition to the Arcturus Stream?" asked Amari.

Vaughn nodded. The Arcturus Stream was a star system that had never fixed its relay after the war. However, since the distance between Earth and Arcturus was less than forty light-years, it was feasible for an expeditionary force to travel there at FTL speeds. Ultimately, the expedition was successful. Vaughn could still remember the celebrations in New Albany when the Alliance expedition returned through the Charon relay.

"No doubt, you heard of the Alliance's success," the drell woman continued. "But not everything about the expedition was made public. This is a vid that was taken of the relay when the expeditionary force first arrived, before they even started their work." She activated a single command on her omni-tool, and the projection switched to show the Arcturus Relay.

At first glance, it appeared like any other functioning relay. But as Vaughn looked closer, there were noticeable differences: the two gyroscopic rings were not fully attached together, and were revolving at speeds much slower than normal. Additionally, the element zero core of the relay was dimmer and much smaller. The relay clearly wasn't at full operating capacity, but it was very nearly repaired.

"I thought there were no survivors in the Arcturus Stream." Vaughn turned to Councilor Chevalier, wondering if the presence of survivors was an Alliance-kept secret.

"There weren't any," Amari confirmed. "This is just a theory for now, but it's supported by other data we've seen. Slowly but surely, the relays are repairing themselves."

* * *

Author's Note: I actually was planning to write the entire Council session in this chapter, but I was already approaching 5k words, and I didn't want to make things too long. Also, before anybody mentions, I know C-Sec originally stands for "Citadel Security", but I imagine "Council Security" would abbreviate the same way, and be a bit more familiar to people.

Also, there is a bit of vagueness about how fast ships in the ME universe can travel at FTL speeds. The codex mentions a nearly absurd value for Reapers, but since ships are constantly accelerating and decelerating and need to discharge static electricity (Reapers have no such need) I'm basing this fic on a relatively low estimate for Council ships. Basically, this fic operates under the assumption that FTL expeditions to remote star systems are prohibitively time-intensive.

Also, Glen Alpine is an event during the Reaper War I created as part of Vaughn's backstory. It'll likely come up again…


	4. A New Era

CHAPTER FOUR: A New Era

"The relays are repairing themselves?" Vaughn's voice betrayed his bewilderment. "Is that even possible?"

"This is what the evidence suggests," the quarian councilor said. "When Ranid'Xola vas Turelia started repairs on the Serpent Nebula's relay, he calculated the amount of element zero needed to replenish the core. However, when he finally finished repairs, he noted a discrepancy. His math was correct, and yet the amount he added to the core was less than calculated. This suggests there must have been some unseen, additional source."

"For years, scientists have theorized about the nature of the mass relays," added Councilor Chevalier. "The cores of functioning relays have always remained constant in size, and so it's believed that a large, specific mass brings some kind of stability. And yet, natural phenomena – such as solar winds – would surely strip away some of that eezo over time. The fact that eezo cores are not eventually whittled down to nothing suggests the relays have a means of resupplying themselves."

"There are many theories about where the eezo's coming from," Councilor Valius said. "And I don't understand half of them. They range anywhere from microscopic wormholes to dimensional rifts. Or, maybe matter is simply being created from nothing – that's a nice way to both terrify and intrigue every physicist in the galaxy."

"Regardless of the method, the element zero generation isn't quick enough to make harvesting profitable. Rather unfortunate..." The volus councilor shrugged unhappily.

"And yet, this is a tremendous discovery, one with implications that our scientists will ponder for decades to come." Councilor Rhela spoke pointedly at the volus councilor. She turned back to Vaughn. "Whatever this phenomenon is, it's possible that after the Crucible's firing, it kept the ring fragments in orbit around the relays. We've never witnessed it, but it seems apparent that the relays automatically pulled the fragments back together, reforming the gyroscopic rings."

"Say what you want about the Reapers, but they certainly built the relays to last," Councilor Bakara mused with a sour grin.

The various councilors prattled away, discussing the various scientific and economic implications. Vaughn let them speak, taking the brief respite to digest all the information he had been given. Life was about to change drastically. With access to the formerly-lost colonies, reconstruction might proceed at something other than a snail's pace. People could finally gain closure, knowing whether families or friends stranded in the colonial systems still lived. Vaughn felt a growing sense of exhilaration; this was quite possibly the best piece of news to surface since the war's end. And yet… this didn't quite explain what Vaughn was doing in front of the Council.

"So why the secrecy?" Vaughn interrupted. "What's my role in all this?"

The councilors halted their discussion, glancing at each other in hesitation. After a moment of silence, it was Councilor Osule who spoke.

"We simply don't know the status of these isolated star systems." The salarian woman steepled her fingers. "The situation here is dire enough already, and our resources are spread thin. Reintroducing these star systems to Council space carries its own risks and could undermine everything we've worked towards these past seven years."

Seeing Vaughn's distaste at the salarian's cavalier attitude, Chevalier jumped in. "We don't intend to abandon anybody, but we need to be careful about how we approach this," the red-headed councilor urged. "We'll let the public know in time, but for now we need to control the message."

"In truth, things are complicated." Amari gave Vaughn a placating smile. "In these past few years, we've learned more about the mass relays than ever before. One thing we've determined is that the size and stability of the element zero core is vital. The Arcturus Relay as you saw in it the image was close, but it wasn't fully operational. If the core isn't large enough, then it won't be stable, and each use of the relay will hemorrhage eezo."

"There's also a thresholds of element zero that's needed to send and receive a ship," Chevalier continued. "But as you might expect, it takes more to **send **a ship than it does to **receive **a ship. We believe that the defunct relays of the galaxy have been generating eezo these last seven years and will soon approach this lower threshold to start receiving ships. They'll become a fully stable relay over time, but soon, we could finally send somebody through."

"But if those relays can't send a ship back, wouldn't that be a one-way trip?" asked Vaughn.

"Not necessarily." Amari took over once more. "A ship could theoretically carry enough element zero for its return journey. It would raise the mass of the core and allow the sending of a ship, although it wouldn't be enough to make the relay stable. The ship's eezo would be depleted when the ship gets sent back, but it prevents the risk of being stranded. We've done some calculations, and the best choice would be a smaller ship, nothing quite as large as a cruiser."

"And that is why you are here today, Lieutenant Vaughn." Chevalier gestured at the rest of the Council. "We are evaluating candidates to lead this expedition, to venture through the relay network and reestablish contact with lost star systems. The Council will vote, and upon your acceptance, you will be promoted to the rank of Major within the Council Naval Forces. We also intend to reinstate the Spectre program, of which you will be the first new member in seven years."

"A Spectre?" Vaughn asked in surprise.

"The Spectre status is a formality," Councilor Osule said dryly. "It is to give your ship authority when operating in space that technically belongs to one of our governments." She waved a hand at her fellow councilors. "Diplomatic consideration and such…"

"So, you would want me to take command of one of the Council's frigates?" Vaughn asked. This was the only part of the arrangement that concerned him – being a ground soldier, he had little experience aboard a starship.

"The ship will have a captain responsible for the vessel itself, but she will report to you. You'll have a squad: a ground team of trained individuals that will follow your lead," answered Councilor Valius.

"Well? Are you interested?" Councilor Chevalier asked with a hopeful smile.

Vaughn considered the various challenges of the mission, and of what he might leave behind upon transferring from the Systems Alliance. But then he recalled the galaxy map Amari had shown to the rest of the Council. When the relay network went down, it was almost as if the galaxy itself shattered. He, of all people, would have the opportunity to put it back together. This was an opportunity he could not refuse.

Upon Vaughn's acceptance, the Council began its vote. True to Nyla's words, the Council seemed to be split down the middle. Naturally, Councilor Chevalier voted in favor of Vaughn's promotion, as well as the turian Councilor Valius, the krogan Councilor Bakara, and the volus and quarian councilors. The asari Councilor Rhela and the salarian Councilor Osule voted against him, followed by the hanar and elcor councilors. But then, the final vote came to the drell delegate: Councilor Zahn. The reptilian man had a pale green complexion with a scar on his right cheek, reputedly earned during the war. He seemed to be a quiet individual, hardly speaking a word during the entirety of the Council meeting thus far. Zahn considered his words for a long while before speaking.

"I vote in favor of Lieutenant Vaughn's candidacy. I am fully confident in his abilities to lead this mission," the man finally croaked in a raspy voice.

Osule fixed him with an icy stare, but Zahn ignored the hostility. Vaughn also watched the man, but with curiosity – according to Nyla, the drell often voted with the salarians and asari. He glanced at Amari. _"Did she have anything to do with this?"_

"It's decided then!" Chevalier clapped her hands once and beamed at the rest of the gathering. "Major Daniel Vaughn, let me be the first to welcome you to the Council Naval Forces."

Vaughn spent the next twenty minutes reciting oaths and engaging in ceremony appropriate for such an occasion. He no longer bothered to contain his smile – one which was fueled in some part by the dark looks that Osule now gave him. Vaughn had no doubt that she would provide trouble for him down the road, but for now, he would enjoy his victory.

The Council session ended shortly thereafter. Save for Osule, each of the councilors stopped by to congratulate Vaughn, although more enthusiasm came from the ones who actually voted for him. Councilor Valius grasped Vaughn's hand firmly in his talons, inviting the newly-promoted major to dinner and the exchanging of war stories. Councilor Bakara slapped the new major on the back and muttered a few choice words regarding what she thought of her salarian counterpart. Councilor Chevalier even went so far as to embrace Vaughn, ecstatic that the Glen Alpine incident hadn't derailed weeks of maneuvering on his behalf. Amari and Councilor Zahn, however, waited until Vaughn was alone to approach him.

"Congratulations, Major Vaughn." Zahn offered a hand, which Vaughn accepted and shook. The drell man stood rigid and formal as he spoke. "I would also like to thank you. I don't know what I would have done if Amari had been harmed during that kidnapping on Earth."

"She saved herself, really. Not many people could have taken down her captor like that." Vaughn shrugged. "I had very little to do with it."

"That's not true – if you hadn't arrived and so swiftly captured the warehouse, I might still be a prisoner. Or worse," said Amari.

"I had the honor of being Amari's mentor during her youth," Zahn explained. "I taught her much about combat, but around the time her biotic abilities surfaced, she found herself drawn toward medicine. It's good to hear that she hasn't let her skills atrophy, for she'll be your chief medical officer during this expedition. I'm sure she will perform admirably," he said and Amari bowed her head at the compliment.

Vaughn nodded. _"So _**that's **_why Zahn was willing to vote against Osule's wishes. Guess I shouldn't be too surprised..."_

Amari seemed to pick up on Vaughn's dawning realization, for she hastily jumped in. "Don't think that your promotion is because Zahn believes he owes you a favor. Everybody in this room knows you are more than qualified – regardless of whether they actually voted for you."

"Indeed," agreed Zahn. "Many people here found your record most impressive. It's just a shame that politics can sometimes hinder progress…"

"I know about the division that exists in the Council. How does anything ever get done if you're split down the middle?" asked Vaughn.

"Sometimes, an issue will take longer to decide than it normally should," Zahn admitted. "But usually we're able to compromise. However, when it comes to larger issues – such as the expedition – things can get a little messy."

"I don't want to put any undue pressure on you, but this expedition is very important to the Council," Amari explained. "This is the biggest piece of news to surface since the war ended, and the Council knows that soon, all eyes in the galaxy will be watching this mission. You, your ship, and your crew will soon be the face of a new era."

Vaughn hadn't considered this. He was never much for the spotlight, and the thought of being the focus of galactic attention made him a little uneasy. But he had made his choice, and he wouldn't let the added pressure change his mind.

"So…" Vaughn began with a grin. "When do I get to see my ship?"

* * *

A railway car took Amari and Vaughn further into the mountain, to where they then stepped into an elevator cab. The trip upwards was long, and by the time the elevator slowed to a stop, Vaughn estimated that they must have been near the mountain's peak. As the doors finally slid open, Vaughn whistled in appreciation at the view before him.

A wide flat area had been carved into the mountainside, creating room for a small landing pad. Beside the elevator, a generator hummed quietly, creating a weak mass effect field that served to cut down on the biting winds at this elevation. Through that barely visible field, Vaughn could see puffy white clouds ringed around the peaks of mountaintops stretching far into the distance. But to Vaughn, the most beautiful sight was the single ship that sat in the middle of the landing pad.

"I wasn't aware that they continued ships of the Normandy-class…" Vaughn murmured.

"The Systems Alliance had a few sister ships to the Normandy in construction, around the time the Reapers attacked," said Amari. "They only recently decided to complete a few of them. This one was given to the Council."

The frame of the ship was nearly identical to the Normandy SR-2: over two hundred meters long and just under one hundred meters in wingspan. However, now that it was a Council ship, the traditional blue and white paint had been replaced in favor of black with silver accents. The port wing of the frigate displayed the Spectre insignia in white paint, as well as the ship's name.

"CSV Antietam," Amari read aloud. "The Council decided to keep the name, only changing the designation from 'SSV' to 'CSV' for its new allegiance. The Systems Alliance names their frigates after famous human battles, I believe?"

"American Civil War," Vaughn said absently. He walked forward to take a closer look at the smooth polish of the ship's exterior. "Can we go inside?"

Vaughn and Amari entered through the ship's open shuttle bay door and stepped between a pair of UT-47B Kodiak drop shuttles. Both were similarly repainted black and silver, and both were brand new. Vaughn glanced at the two smaller aircraft and whistled softly – the last he heard, the Alliance hadn't officially put the 'B' variants of the UT-47 Kodiak into production.

"Feel free to wander the ship," Amari encouraged. "There may be a few maintenance workers doing final checks, but other than that it should be pretty empty. I'm going to stop by the med bay and pick up some files – the ship's crew may have already been decided, but you'll have choices to make regarding your squad."

Vaughn traversed the various decks, working his way up from the shuttle bay. He marveled at the state of the Antietam – everything was just so… new. Haptic control panels and surfaces were polished to a reflective sheen, and the air still held the sharp scent of solvent-based cleaners. Since the war's end, there wasn't really such a thing as a new ship. A good number of the vessels in the System Alliance's fleet had been re-purposed as mining or cargo ships to expedite reconstruction. The ones that were left used limited resources pragmatically, and didn't prioritize replacement of a ragged chair or the repainting of a dreary-looking stretch of hallway.

As Vaughn stepped out onto the CIC, he imagined the sight of crew members working at consoles and hurrying up and down the long aisles of the deck. He paced a few steps toward the holographic emitter in the center of the floor and proceeded up the gradual ramp that led to its command station. From here, one could trigger the massive projection of the galaxy map and decide the courses the ship would take. _"I can get used to this."_

"There's a misaligned conduit in the starboard wall of the engineering deck. I suggest you stop slacking off and get to fixing it." An irritated voice called out to him.

Vaughn turned to see a human woman eying him coldly. She dressed in a black and silver outfit that Vaughn guessed to be the Council Navy's new uniform. Her long black hair was pulled back into a tidy bun, although a few strands of hair hung loose above her steely gray eyes.

"I'm not a maintenance worker," he corrected. "My name is Major Daniel Vaughn… I'm to be the leader of the Antietam's expedition."

The woman said nothing, but studied him for several heartbeats. After a moment's consideration, she shrugged. "My mistake… sir." But despite the apology, her expression didn't change. "I am Captain Maria Harper, and this is my ship. I want to be clear about that."

This caught Vaughn off-guard. "I was told- "

"Your orders are to lead the ground expeditions and manage your squad. And yes, I will report to you regarding the ship's direction. But the ship and its personnel are **my** immediate responsibility."

When Vaughn had first heard of the arrangement, he had suspected that there might be some awkwardness – having two individuals of similar high rank aboard the same ship was a little unusual. But he had not expected borderline insolence. He stiffened.

"Are we going to have a problem here, captain?" Vaughn spoke in a low voice, one conveying that his patience was wearing thin. "Because I'll tell you this right now, I will not tolerate insubordination, especially during this mission."

For a moment it seemed Harper would lash out verbally, but she shook her head instead. "No sir."

"But... if you have an issue, I'd like to hear it now."

"I wouldn't want to be insubordinate, sir." Harper folded her arms.

Vaughn took a deep breath. "You have my permission to speak freely. Let's get this all into the open now, instead of when we're in the middle of deep space."

Harper considered this for a moment before speaking. "This **is **my ship. I was slated to be her captain from the moment they welded the first two pieces of sheet metal together. But then the Alliance decided to hand her over to the Council, and just like that, I'm forced to turn my back on nearly twenty years of service and transfer here." Her voice seethed with pent-up irritation.

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. "You had no choice about the transfer?"

"Well, of course there was a choice," Harper scoffed. "But like I said, the Antietam is my ship. I oversaw her construction, and I'll be damned if they take her away from me. You're Alliance, you should know – when's the last time they christened a new ship that **wasn't **a cargo vessel or some unwieldy mining hulk?"

"I see…"

"And I don't know if you're aware of this, but the Council is desperate to turn this expedition into some kind of symbol to the galaxy. Councilors spent weeks squabbling over the crew roster for this vessel. Now I've got volus, quarians, and even some hanar and elcor serving aboard this ship. Sounds nice, doesn't it? But each species has their own dietary, medical, and cultural needs – trying to accommodate every last one of them on a ship this size is maddening." Harper's face began to redden as she vented her frustration. She swiped a few errant strands of hair out of her eyes and continued. "Do you even know the modifications it takes to make room for an elcor crew member? He's a goddamn navigator, and the only place we could fit him is the shuttle bay! And then, to top it all off, some jumped-up lieutenant comes along to further add to the mess!"

There was momentary silence as the insult landed. Vaughn cleared his throat. It hadn't quite occurred to him how difficult a multi-species crew would be, especially when politicians were involving themselves in every last detail. _"And she does have a point about the 'jumped-up lieutenant' remark," _Vaughn thought. _"Just a few hours ago, I wasn't a major yet, and she'd have outranked me."_

Harper seemed to realize the impact of her words and was the first to speak. "I'm… sorry. That was uncalled for." This time, she did seem to show genuine remorse.

"I said you could speak freely, and that's what you did," Vaughn replied. "You look tired – how long have you been working?"

"I've got a bit more left to do." Harper shrugged. "I've seen every inch of this ship as she was being built, and I'm reexamining every inch again. When we're all loaded up and ready to go, she'll be perfect. She may not have all the same bells and whistles that the Normandy had, but she's a hell of a ship. I piloted her myself from the Mars shipyards to here on Bekenstein. She's something special." Her face brightened as she remembered the event.

"Well, I'm just glad that the Antietam has a captain that knows and cares so much about her." Vaughn offered a friendly half-smile as an attempted olive branch.

Harper looked away, seemingly made uncomfortable by the praise. "I… I should get to engineering. Somebody needs to repair that damn conduit."

As she turned and started walking away, Vaughn observed that she moved with a noticeable limp. "Are you okay?" he asked, following her off the CIC.

"Old war injury," she muttered. "I was the XO on the SSV Houston during the Battle of Earth. One of those damn Oculus drones crashed into us, setting off some secondary explosions on Deck Two. It wasn't pretty." She pulled off a glove and extended her leg to reveal that the limbs on the left side of her body were completely robotic.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Vaughn in a solemn voice.

"Others survived the battle with much worse," Harper said with a frown. "But it's a good thing I know how to manage the bridge of a warship, because my days of running and dodging weapons fire are over."

"I was at the Battle of Earth too," Vaughn added. "On the ground, though. And not in London – we had our own diversionary attacks and objectives in Washington."

"I've heard it was rough all over," the captain offered awkwardly.

"Yeah… it was."

The two of them entered the elevator and pressed the button for the engineering deck. But when they arrived, the doors opened to reveal Amari waiting for them, with a small stack of data pads resting in her hands.

"Oh, Captain Harper!" Amari exclaimed. "I didn't realize you were still here. You really should consider taking a break – I can't advise working such long hours for so many days straight."

"You'll need to issue an official medical order to make that happen, doctor." With a wan smile, Harper slipped past the drell physician. She picked up a tool kit lying near the elevator's entrance and limped toward the far end of the deck.

Amari stepped into the elevator with Vaughn. "I was looking for you – I found the dossiers that you'll need to make your squad selection." Noticing that he watched the captain's faltering steps, Amari sighed. "I've offered to take a look at her prosthetic limbs, but she never wants to take the time."

"She's incredibly driven by her work," Vaughn observed.

"Indeed. I'm glad you got the chance to meet her! You both spent so much of your lives in the Systems Alliance – I'm sure the two of you will get along famously."

Vaughn's glimpse of Captain Harper vanished as the elevator doors closed. The cab began its descent back to the frigate's shuttle bay and Vaughn considered his brief encounter with Harper. She was brusque, cold, and overly-possessive of the Antietam. But she was also extremely dedicated and passionate about the ship. Whatever personal issues they might have to iron out, there was no doubt about her qualifications.

The edges of Vaughn's lips twitched upward into a smile. "I look forward to working with her."


	5. Journey's Beginning

CHAPTER FIVE: Journey's Beginning

Major Daniel Vaughn sat at his desk, an array of data pads scattered out on the surface in front of him. He had been provided with temporary quarters while he was staying at the Cathedral, and so found himself in a lavish suite – one that seemed more appropriate for a resort than the seat of galactic government. It was located near the apex of the vast white building that arose from the mountainside, directly above the underground meeting halls. The view from this height was impressive, yet also sobering, for the sight of scarred terrain was a constant reminder of what had happened during the war. However, in the midst of that debris, he could also see a city built on a hill: the bustling metropolis of Normandy, the newly-built civilian capital of Bekenstein.

Vaughn would've liked the chance to visit the city, to see the memorial hall dedicated to the fallen Commander Shepard and the Normandy's MIA crew. But since his promotion, Vaughn was plagued by a never-ending stream of diplomats and politicians – all eager to establish a relationship with a soon-to-be high profile figure. In fact, it seemed as if Vaughn had barely any time to complete his official duties, namely the selection of his squad. Each data pad on the desk in front of him held the profile of a different potential squad member, and Vaughn had finally found time to look at them. However, it didn't take long for him to realize a noticeable trend…

The suite's front door chimed softly, interrupting Vaughn's thoughts. He cringed at the noise, dreading that it might be the tedious elcor ambassador, back again for yet another agonizingly monotonous visit. He half-considered letting the door ring unanswered, but ultimately decided that it would be a childish.

"Come in," Vaughn called out, allowing the suite's voice control system to automatically open the front door.

Councilor Adrienne Chevalier pranced through the door, her effervescent personality seeming to instantly brighten the room. Pushing several strands of auburn hair out of her eyes, she beamed at the seated major. "Hard at work, I see. I hope I didn't come at a bad time?"

"No, not at all." Vaughn motioned to one of the leather armchairs, inviting her to sit. "In fact, your timing is perfect. I had some questions about the squad selection process."

"Of course. What do you want to know?"

"Who chose these candidates, exactly?" Vaughn picked up one of the data pads and waved it casually. "I can't help but notice a pattern here."

A sympathetic, knowing smile flashed across Chevalier's face. "Each councilor picked the candidates to represent their race. The Council is expecting a multi-species squad, much like the rest of the Antietam's crew. Now, because of physical limitations, nobody's expecting you to bring a hanar or elcor crew member into combat. But representatives from races you might expect will be on the squad: an asari, a salarian, and so on. Of course, there were concessions to make up for that: the ship has an elcor crewmember as Senior Navigator and a volus as Chief of Engineering. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get everybody satisfied with the final make-up." She paused, wrinkling her freckled nose. "I haven't seen the dossiers for myself, but I can guess. How bad is it?"

"Well, it looks like each councilor is giving me one or two exceptionally qualified candidates, while the rest are clearly sub-par. Take the quarians, for example. Ranid'Xola vas Turelia, in addition to being the 'Hero of the Serpent Nebula', has an impressive military record. But the three other quarian soldiers I'm expected to consider are barely out of their Pilgrimage." Vaughn shook his head in exasperation. "It seems pretty obvious that each councilor has already decided who they want on my team."

"Well… with postwar conditions being what they are, military experience is more of a rarity these days," Chevalier reasoned half-heartedly. "And ultimately it **is **your choice…"

Vaughn gave a bitter laugh. "Don't try to sugarcoat it for me. If anybody's going to be straight with me, I expect it to be you." He gave her a reproachful look, but his tone betrayed that he didn't mean his words too harshly. "I'm not really being given much of a choice here, am I?"

"No… I suppose not," she admitted. "Each councilor has his or her favorite they want to see added to the team."

"Then maybe I should pick one of the lesser qualified salarians, just to spite Councilor Osule." Vaughn smirked at the thought.

Chevalier snickered, a melodious pleasant-sounding laugh. "You could, but no doubt every person she's recommended is somebody she favors. You might as well amass the best group that you can."

"I guess. Still, all this explains why I only received a single krogan dossier. 'Urdnot Krom: Don't waste your time on anybody else'..." Vaughn chuckled as he read the footnote left by Councilor Bakara on the data pad. "Looks like she's not even bothering with the pretense of choice here. I'm not sure whether I should be thankful or annoyed."

"That certainly sounds like her; she's always been rather blunt." Chevalier shrugged. "So I suppose it won't take you long to make your selection?"

"All I need is to do is pick an asari, a salarian, a turian, a krogan, and a quarian. As long as there aren't any issues in them getting along, I imagine it will be one hell of a group."

"Shepard did pretty well in getting a multi-racial team to cooperate. It may not always have been easy for her, but I'm certain you will succeed as she did."

"So when do I get to interview these candidates?" asked Vaughn.

"Well..." Chevalier glanced away. "Truthfully, I'm not just here on a social visit today. I came by to let you know that the Council wants the ship ready quickly. We've just gotten word that one of the lost mass relays has reached the threshold to start receiving ships."

Vaughn felt a surge of excitement. He had spent nearly two weeks on Bekenstein, and time had tempered the exhilaration of his promotion. Nobody was quite sure when the derelict mass relays of the galaxy would reactivate. He had been told that there was some variance at play in terms of the eezo generation, and that by nature of the relay network, they would only be able to access adjacent star systems at first. Part of him had begun to wonder if he would be stuck on Bekenstein for months.

"Wow..." Vaughn blinked in surprise. "How soon do they want us to depart?"

"As soon as possible. All we're really waiting on is the selection of your squad and however long it takes to transport them here to Bekenstein. In fact, I was hoping to collect some names now and submit them."

"So I'm expected to pick a team without meeting any of them first?" Vaughn was taken aback. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

"Well, as you just found out, it's pretty obvious who the councilors want on the squad anyway." Chevalier then gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "I wouldn't worry too much – everybody you have on that desk behind you is a professional, somebody who knows how to work as part of a team."

Vaughn sunk back in his chair, exhaling audibly. But as he vented his frustration, an idea entered his mind. _"If the Council's in a hurry, then this might be an opportunity_._" _Vaughn leaned forward. "What if I wanted to pick somebody that wasn't on one of these data pads?"

"Somebody else?" Chevalier blinked in surprise. "I wasn't aware you knew many aliens with combat experience. It will depend on the candidate's race, and whether I can convince the relevant councilor… if it's somebody like Osule then forget it."

"I think Councilor Valius would be willing to accommodate me," Vaughn said. "He seems to like me well enough. I want a member of his aide staff, Nyla Amentrius."

"I suppose that means you know she's his bodyguard, then." Chevalier chewed her bottom lip as she considered the idea. "He's not going to be fond of losing her, but I could probably convince him to let her go."

"Good." Vaughn then braced himself for what he knew would be the harder sell. "I also have somebody else in mind, a human."

Chevalier shook her head. "I don't know about that. You're already the expedition leader, and if I add another human to the squad, the other councilors will start clamoring for more representation."

"This isn't a request. There aren't many people I trust fully, but my corporal back on Earth is one of them. I can't think of anybody else I'd rather have on my side in a firefight. I need him on my team," Vaughn declared.

"Corporal Alexei Volkov?" The woman's eyes widened. "You want me to persuade the Council into allowing an ex-Cerberus trooper onto the expedition? An expedition where most of the crew will be alien?"

"Like you said, **ex**-Cerberus," Vaughn pointed out. "He defected before the Reaper War, and he's fought by my side ever since." The major folded his arms, his grim expression giving his words emphasis. "He **won't **be a problem."

Sighing, Chevalier rubbed her temples as if to preemptively stave off her imminent headache. "I can't promise anything. Even our political allies won't be happy about this idea, not even the turians. Especially not the turians…"

"Well, the councilors are in a hurry to get this expedition off the ground. And like you said, they've clearly made choices regarding my squad, regardless of what I think. Corporal Alexei Volkov is **my **choice."

There was momentary silence as Chevalier considered the diplomatic hurdles she would need to leap. Vaughn watched her face intently, trying to gauge whether she was coming around to his demand. While it was true that Alexei was never fully comfortable around aliens, Vaughn knew that his friend worked hard to fight any prejudices he might have cultivated working with Cerberus. He believed Alexei deserved a chance at redemption. Still, there was a secondary reason for Vaughn's request. Vaughn suspected that how he chose to act now was important. So far, very little of the expedition was under his control, having been decided by politicians behind the scenes. And up until now, he hadn't raised too much of a fuss. He reasoned it was time to put his foot down and make his own demands, to send a message to the Council that this whole mission required give-and-take from both sides.

"I'll get it done," the councilor conceded with a heavy sigh. She lifted her hands lifted in mock surrender. "I have no idea how, but I'll figure something out. To soften the blow, can I at least tell them you've selected the rest of your squad?"

Vaughn twisted around and picked out several of the data pads, listing the names as he grabbed them. "Ezelle Maré, asari commando. Ranid'Xola, quarian marine. Kiros Myzet, salarian STG operative. Urdnot Krom, krogan… krogan."

"As well as Nyla Amentrius and Alexei Volkov," Chevalier finished unhappily.

"Right." Vaughn nodded. "So I have to ask, which relay came online? Where are we headed?"

"Nowhere that's likely to be too dangerous," Chevalier responded, standing from her seat and smoothing out wrinkles in her dress. "The Vetus star system in the Petra Nebula. You're off to Elysium."

* * *

Vaughn stood for what he guessed was well over an hour, decked out in his pristine black and silver, Council-issued armor. As leader of the expedition, Vaughn's official duty was to stand at attention and oversee the preparations. It didn't require any actual work on his part – Council Navy personnel were directing the flow of traffic, and the harsh voice of Captain Maria Harper echoed above them. Unlike Vaughn, she had a full understanding of everything needed to prepare a ship. And true to her nature, she refused to let anything get done without her input or approval.

"Just stand there and… look inspiring, I guess." Harper had brushed Vaughn off when he first approached her.

Some of the Antietam's crew members stopped by to introduce themselves, and Vaughn did his best to start remembering their names. To his surprise, a few appeared intimidated by him, though he supposed the sight of him fully equipped with armor and weapons had something to do with it. He appreciated that the Council was letting him use his own weapons, rather than some kind of standard load-out. He had heard that the Council was in the midst of commissioning weaponry that would be unique to its naval forces. However, Chevalier had passed along a rumor that all weapons manufacturers were still struggling to restart operations, and therefore refurbished weapons from the likes of Rosenkov or Armax were still preferable.

"Well, don't you look impressive?" A deep voice called out, a familiar and welcome sound to Vaughn's ears. Corporal Alexei Volkov sauntered up to the major and gave him a casual salute.

Vaughn grinned at seeing his friend again. He noted that Alexei wore his usual combat uniform: Cerberus shock trooper armor, though adjusted to make the origin less obvious. Shortly after the war, it had been repainted from the black, gold, and white of Cerberus to Systems Alliance ivory and navy blue. His wearing the uniform now had been another curious allowance by the Council. In addition to using their own weapons, a fair amount of leeway was being given to his squad members regarding their armor. Unlike Vaughn, Alexei wasn't leaving the Systems Alliance. And like other members of Vaughn's squad, Alexei was acting as more of a representative, which allowed him to wear human military gear.

"I was told to look 'inspiring'." Vaughn extended his arms, showing off his polished new armor.

"You think the black and silver suits you?" asked Alexei.

"Well, I think they overdid it a bit on the black," Vaughn admitted with a laugh. "I imagine it will get warm pretty quickly in this thing."

Alexei nodded, mulling over his response before he spoke. "I meant, are you okay with leaving the Alliance?"

Vaughn sighed. "Truthfully... it would have been nice to remain in the Alliance and be here as some kind of exchange officer. But that wasn't an option, and this wasn't an opportunity I could pass up."

"I don't blame you." Alexei paused and then glanced over his shoulder, looking to make sure that nobody could overhear him. "I want to ask you something Vaughn, and don't take this the wrong way. What happens if Council interests conflict with interests of the Systems Alliance – the interests of humanity? What then?" His eyes searched Vaughn's face, his voice gravely serious.

Vaughn looked at the corporal with noticeable surprise. "I wasn't aware that the Council and the Alliance **have **conflicting interests. Hell, this is basically a humanitarian mission. Alexei… if you-"

"It's not about **that**," Alexei interrupted. "I know you're concerned about how an ex-Cerberus trooper will fare on this ship, but that has nothing to do with why I'm asking. Juggling multiple loyalties is tough, and it's good to sort them out while you have the chance." He started to run his fingers through his neatly-trimmed beard. "Look… maybe I'm being an alarmist, but at the same time, things might not be as simple as you think. Not always, anyway. There was a time when I thought my loyalty toward Cerberus was the same as loyalty toward humanity. As you know, that changed. I'm not saying you'll ever need to make a choice, but it's something you should think about ahead of time."

Both men went quiet. Vaughn wasn't sure how to respond; he knew he would always have a bias in favor of his own species – this was natural. But he had also sworn an oath to the Council and its navy. There may have been some strained relationships in the Council, but Vaughn couldn't imagine a likely scenario where the Alliance would find itself at odds with the galactic government. _"Alexei's always been a pessimist, waiting for something to go horribly wrong," _Vaughn reminded himself. _"He's just being his usual, gloomy self." _

The awkward silence was brought to a merciful end as Vaughn noticed another familiar person walking in their direction. Seeing his friend's gaze shift past him, Alexei turned as well.

"I owe you one, Vaughn. I really do." Nyla Amentrius stopped in front of Vaughn and gave the major a short bow. "Councilor Valius wasn't too happy, but like I said, that human councilor of yours can certainly bare her talons when she needs to." Grinning, the turian woman turned to Alexei, needing to tilt her head back to look at the taller man. "And **this** must be the other human that got the Council all worked up."

"Corporal Alexei Volkov served with me during the war, and has kept me out of trouble ever since." Vaughn then gestured to Nyla, directing his words to the corporal. "And this, Alexei, is Nyla Amentrius: kabalim of Palaven's Fifth Cabal. I had to pull some strings to get her on the team, but I couldn't bear to see a good soldier stranded here on Bekenstein."

Alexei said nothing in response to the introduction, but merely gave a curt nod.

Nyla looked Alexei up and down. His great stature and muscled physique already made him a large, intimidating figure, yet the bulky combat suit added to the effect. The turian woman gave an approving nod. "I don't know what got the Council so worked up about him, but I can certainly see why you want him on the team." Nyla slapped Alexei once on the upper arm in a friendly gesture. "Of course, we'll see what it good it does. We might need to crack a few skulls when we arrive in the Terminus Systems, but other than that, nobody's expecting that we'll see much action."

"Really?" Vaughn asked.

"You can tell by which of the Antietam's upgrades were delayed," Nyla explained. "No Thanix cannons or anything more fancy than your standard shields. Spirits, the QEC they planned to install in communications was deferred for another few months because of cost reasons. Seems incredibly stupid, but when the bureaucracy wants to save a few credits here and there, who's to stop them?"

"Captain Harper mentioned that the Antietam was missing a few bells and whistles," Vaughn recalled. "But it seems odd that they'd start being stingy now. I've seen the inside of the ship – it couldn't have been cheap to get her looking like that."

Nyla smirked. "I can only guess the Council got over-excited at first and then balked when it was time to pay up. But the ship looks brand new, and that's all that matters. The Council isn't expecting trouble – they just want something that will look nice for the evening news."

"Doesn't surprise me," Alexei grumbled, a hint of disgust in his voice.

"Maybe they're right, maybe they're not." Vaughn swiveled to get a full view of the Antietam's sleek black and silver frame. "But that ship's got plenty enough for us to work with. No matter what happens, we'll manage." He turned back to face his two comrades. "And I'm glad to have the both of you on board. Nyla, I'll admit that you and I don't know each other well, but I can tell that I'm going to need your insight. I need somebody who understands how the Council thinks."

"I'm good in a firefight too, you know." Nyla chuckled lightly, patting the Phaeston assault rifle holstered on the back of her indigo-and-gold-colored armor.

"I just hope the rest of the team can keep up." Alexei then pointed to one of the elevators, which had just arrived at the landing pad. "Speak of the devils..."

Another batch of personnel streamed through the elevator doors, but since the remaining members of Vaughn's squad weren't required to wear the Council Navy uniform, they were easy to spot. An asari with violet-hued skin and a commando's non-distinct uniform was at the head of the group, who Vaughn assumed to be Ezelle Maré. A large hulk of a krogan lumbered in the middle of the pack, easily seen since he stood over half a meter taller than everybody else. This had to be Urdnot Krom, the only krogan Councilor Bakara had chosen to assign to the ship. Ranid'Xola was also easy to identify, as Vaughn could see flashes of his green fabric through the bodies of the crowd. It was a crowd Ranid was clearly uneasy with, for Vaughn could see the quarian's head dart around like a nervous animal looking for an escape.

A few seconds after the elevator had seemingly emptied, another figure emerged. It was a salarian, wearing a gray uniform with yellow stripes down the arms that marked him as a member of the Special Tasks Group. His skin was a dark green, so dark that it could have been mistaken for black. Unlike every other salarian Vaughn had met, this salarian did not seem to be in any particular rush. His movements were deliberately slow, as if he didn't care to walk in the company of his other crew mates.

"Kiros Myzet," Vaughn murmured. "You know anything about him, Nyla?"

"Is that his name?" Nyla shrugged. "He hasn't spent any time on Bekenstein as far as I know, and so I know nothing about him. But… if he's Councilor Osule's pick for this team, then that's something. Considering the political influence of our salarian councilor, Kiros was probably a top candidate for your job on this expedition."

Alexei grunted. "Eh. He doesn't look like much."

"Don't underestimate the salarian Special Tasks Group," warned Nyla. "You know, rather than use up all your political favors on me and Alexei, maybe you should have tried to pick a salarian that wasn't in Osule's pocket." She seemingly meant this as a joke, but nobody laughed.

"We're all working toward the same goal here," Vaughn said diplomatically. "I'm not going to prejudge him. And like it or not, he's on the team, so we all have to work with him."

"Major Vaughn!" Councilor Chevalier's voice rung out over the din of the morning's chaos. Vaughn pulled his gaze away from Kiros and saw the human councilor waving him over from a nearby freight elevator. An older man in civilian clothes stood next to her.

"Well, I'll be damned..." Alexei straightened and began to brush off his combat suit.

Nyla laughed at Alexei's reaction, for she also recognized the man. Even in civilian clothes, few could mistake the man who was nearly as legendary as Commander Shepard. "Just make sure you bring back an autograph for Alexei," the turian woman said. "In the meantime, I guess we better go find our quarters on the ship." Nyla slapped Alexei on the back and started toward the Antietam. With a final brooding glance over his shoulder, Alexei followed after her.

When Vaughn reached the freight elevator, he saluted. "It's good to see you, admiral."

Steven Hackett smiled, but shook his head. "I'm not an admiral anymore, Major Vaughn. 'Steven' will do just fine." He extended a hand for Vaughn to shake.

Vaughn found it somewhat jarring to see the man out of his formal Alliance uniform. Although he could not be considered overweight by any means, Hackett had gained a few pounds since Vaughn had last seen him. Vaughn took that to mean Hackett was enjoying his retirement, one the man richly deserved. The former admiral was almost sixty years old – a little young for retirement, but he had done enough in his military career for several lifetimes. He had kept the shattered remains of the Alliance fleets together after Earth was captured. And while Shepard had led the ground assault and activated the Crucible during the Battle of Earth, Hackett had commanded the vast combined fleet of the galaxy. Vaughn wondered whether the stress of his exploits was the reason why the man actually looked his age – a rarity given the medical advances available.

"Well, I'll leave you two to talk." Councilor Chevalier grinned at both men as she stepped away.

"Congratulations on your promotion, major." The former admiral gave an amicable smile after the human councilor departed. "The Alliance may have lost one hell of a soldier through your transfer, but you're embarking on something truly great here. I envy you."

"I'm sure the Council would jump at the chance of having you on this mission."

"Tempting, but no." Hackett chuckled. "I'm perfectly happy to end my career on a high note; my time is done. I'm content to spend my days helping out with the reconstruction efforts here in the city of Normandy. You were doing something similar, I've heard. New Albany, right?"

"That's right." Vaughn nodded.

"Very good, very good..." Hackett paused. "I heard a little bit about your meeting with the Council. You did well in how you handled talking about Glen Alpine… We can put that incident behind us, I think. The Council doesn't need to know the full details of what happened there." The lines on the ex-admiral's face seemed to deepen as his smile withered away. "I know what Councilor Osule said. Glen Alpine… is that really why you joined Civil Security after the war? Because if it is, you shouldn't blame yourself."

Vaughn did in fact blame himself, but he shook his head. "I joined Civil Security because the most important thing for humanity is to rebuild. I simply went where I was needed most."

Hackett considered the answer then nodded, a smile returning to his face. "Good, glad to hear it. Well, now you're needed here on the Antietam, and we're all the luckier to have you there." He turned to look at the Antietam, watching as the final crates were being loaded into her cargo hold. "She's a beautiful ship. Those designers certainly knew what they were doing when they thought up the Normandy-class."

"An expert blending of turian and human design," Vaughn agreed. "Does the Alliance have others like her?"

"I'm not really kept in the loop anymore, but there might be a couple they're thinking about finishing. So, unless the Normandy's still out there, the Antietam is the only one."

"If I may ask sir, what do you think happened to the Normandy?"

"The SSV Normandy..." Hackett rubbed the back of his neck. "She was one of the last ships to jump to FTL when the Crucible started to activate. However, witnesses saw her retreat successfully. The Normandy did make it to the Charon Relay, but after the relay jump she executed a second for some reason. No idea why, and no word from her since."

"The Normandy did have EDI, an AI that was basically the ship itself," Vaughn recalled. "We know what the Crucible's energy did to synthetic life. Do you think…?" His voice trailed away.

"It's possible that she was destroyed," Hackett admitted. "But you're wondering if she could have survived, correct? That the Normandy could have gotten stranded in a system unable to repair its relay? That's… also possible. But their survival would depend on them ending up in a system with a habitable planet, one that could sustain the crew. I really can't say for sure."

"Well, there's always hope."

"Yes, hope is good," Hackett replied, although his tone was somewhat unconvincing. "Major… I came up here to wish you well on your expedition, but also to offer a piece of advice. You were on Earth during the war, but I was out there, receiving intel on everywhere the Reapers were invading. By the time the fleets arrived above Earth, it was bad. The damn machines were nearly everywhere, in almost every habitable system. If a star system couldn't repair its mass relay after the war, I think it's because of a very obvious reason."

Vaughn took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp mountain air. "Perhaps. But like you said, I was on Earth. Life can be surprisingly resilient. We – not just us humans, but all of us – can endure so much horror and death and still come out okay on the other side. That's what I saw during the war."

"That's true," the ex-admiral conceded. "And it's good to have a healthy dose of optimism. Just… when you get out there, don't be surprised to find a lot of graveyards."

* * *

Vaughn stood on the bridge of the Antietam, basking in the ship's vivacity. All around him, crew members hurried about between stations, performing final checks on systems. Captain Harper stood a step in front of him, examining status reports through a data pad that she held in her robotic hand. Over her shoulder, Vaughn could see as various status indicators turned green.

"Well it's about damn time." Harper slipped the data pad into her pocket and turned to Vaughn. "All ship systems are go. Do we have your permission to proceed, major?"

"Now's as good a time as any," said Vaughn.

"Good." Harper started to turn away, but abruptly stopped, looking to Vaughn with narrowed eyes. "You're not the type who needs to make some grand speech, about how we're saving the galaxy and all that crap, are you?"

In truth, Vaughn had been wondering about saying a few words over the intercom. But everything he came up with in his mind sounded sappy or hollow. He shook his head.

"I'm glad." Harper did a quick about-face, but not before Vaughn thought he noticed a hint of a smile. The captain limped to the cockpit, to where a single hanar pilot hovered with its tentacles moving deftly between buttons. "Ensign Ithamylos, I believe we're ready to depart. Take us out, nice and easy."

"This one will comply." The hanar's body shimmered as it spoke. Its tentacles sprung to life once more, and Vaughn felt a sudden pull as the ship's thrusters engaged.

The CSV Antietam roared to life as it slowly levitated several meters off the ground. Then, with a steady acceleration, it hovered forward, passing through and dispelling a single cloud that floated through the mountain peaks. The roar intensified as the nose of the frigate angled upward, gaining speed to reach the necessary velocity and escape the planet's gravitational pull. To the handful of Council observers below, she became a howling blur – a magnificent force that ascended to the heavens, going forth to reunite a galaxy.


	6. Freefall

Author's Note: So, I had mentioned this in my other ongoing fic (now completed), but I had gotten a little burned out for a bit, and then Witcher 3 happened.

Anyway, excuses aside, I'm back now...

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: Freefall

It was quiet on the bridge of the Antietam. The frigate glided at FTL speeds, and at this stage of the journey there was little that needed to be done by the crew. The ship's VI controlled the speed and trajectory, and each crewman had long since double-checked and triple-checked their diagnostic reports. Things were as exact and perfect as they could possibly be.

Major Daniel Vaughn thought he detected a hint of a smile on Captain Maria Harper's face. He knew how much she enjoyed commanding a ship, especially one as splendid and new as the CSV Antietam. Vaughn opened his mouth – tempted to make small talk – but he decided to avoid interrupting the tranquility. Instead, he listened to the soft hum of the Tantalus Drive Core as it reverberated through the ship, interspersed with the beeps and chimes of the various command stations.

"Fifteen!" A loud booming voice broke the quiet. "I count fifteen turians aboard this ship! And only one krogan! Must mean that one krogan is equal to fifteen turians!"

The head of every crewman abruptly turned to the deck's rear, to the elevator where Urdnot Krom had appeared. The krogan's lizard-like red eyes glimmered with mischief, and surprisingly white teeth showed as he guffawed. Several of the seated turians stiffened and scowled at the intruder.

"A joke, a joke! I'm kidding, of course." As Krom strode toward Vaughn and Harper with pounding steps, he patted one particularly disgruntled turian crewman on the shoulder. The friendly gesture did little to appease. Krom stopped before the major and captain, snapped to attention, and issued them a rigid salute. "Urdnot Krom, reporting for duty!"

Captain Harper's eyes narrowed. "There are strict regulations regarding entry onto the bridge of a military vessel. You cannot simply wander where you please."

"Really?" Krom looked aghast, and Vaughn could barely conceal a grin at the krogan's flamboyance. "Forgive me, ma'am!" the krogan boomed, bowing his head low. "Permission to-"

"Permission granted." Vaughn spoke quickly before Harper could send Krom away – he wanted a chance to speak to the krogan, but didn't want to potentially countermand Harper in front of the crew.

Harper stared at Vaughn for a few seconds, most likely wondering whether to assert her own authority. Yet after brief contemplation, she shrugged. "Permission granted," Harper agreed. "Assuming that he won't be too noisy or disruptive."

"I'll be as quiet as a pyjak in a pit of sleeping varren!" Krom flashed them both a toothy smile. Harper turned away.

Vaughn extended a hand, but instantly regretted it upon feeling the krogan's vice-like grip. "It's nice to finally meet you, Krom. Councilor Bakara spoke very highly of you, and we're glad to have you on the Antietam."

"Hah! No place I'd rather be!" Krom gestured emphatically at his surroundings. "Who could pass up a chance to represent the krogan people in this new chapter of our history?" He then leaned toward Vaughn, lowering his deep voice until it became a confiding murmur. "And besides… I needed some time away from the little ones. It's been a long time since we krogan have had to deal with so many babies, and I'm not used to their devouring everything and… **oozing** everywhere." He shuddered, and Vaughn couldn't help but chuckle.

Vaughn found himself instantly liking Urdnot Krom, which was a relief. Aside from Nyla and Alexei, he hadn't gotten the chance to speak to his new team, and that had worried him a little. He had been especially apprehensive about this sole krogan crewmember, especially given the rumors of brutality and violence that surrounded the species. But Krom possessed an infectiously jovial mood, and Vaughn knew that such soldiers could often do wonders for the morale of others.

"The ship approaches the mass relay. Contact in three minutes." Ensign Ithamylos' voice sounded quietly in the calm tone of voice that all hanar projected.

"So, what's the, uh… protocol for this mission, exactly?" asked Krom, scratching under his chin.

"Information was provided to every crewmember upon boarding the ship," Harper answered coldly, not bothering to turn around. "Am I to understand that you did not read it?"

"I… skimmed it," said Krom, fidgeting.

Harper sighed. "We are en route to the Vetus star system, which contains only one habitable planet: Elysium. Our mission is to perform reconnaissance, evaluate the condition of any survivors, and ultimately make a recommendation to the Council."

"A recommendation?"

"Yes," Harper confirmed. "We must assign a priority rating to Elysium. We have just enough element zero in the cargo bay to charge Elysium's mass relay for our return journey, but not enough to make the relay fully stable for anybody else. Without full stability, a mass relay bleeds a significant amount of eezo each time it sends a ship. Full stability would require a large mass of element zero, which is an investment the Council cannot afford to make for every star system. Not initially, at least."

"But we wouldn't leave any survivors behind, would we?" Krom asked.

"Don't be too concerned," Vaughn said in reassurance. "If a group of survivors is small enough, we can simply bring them back ourselves. If not, the Council is sure to mount a rescue operation."

"That's awfully optimistic," responded Harper, her voice almost too quiet for Vaughn to hear.

Not long after, the Antietam dropped out of FTL, placing it in sight of the mass relay. Vaughn felt his pulse quicken. In theory, everything about this jump was safe. But there was something about relying on a half-formed relay to receive the Antietam that made him feel the slightest bit nervous.

"And away we go…" Harper murmured.

In the end there was no need for concern, for it was a mass relay jump like any other. The ship shuddered under the relay's pull, the galaxy outside the viewport showed the briefest flash of bluish white, and then all the vanished stars seemed to reappear in shifted positions. There was a soft sighing noise as many of the crew members simultaneously exhaled, releasing a breath that they had inadvertently held.

"Chief Navigator Pelyet," Harper spoke into her communicator. "Please verify our current position."

There was a pause as the navigator checked the surrounding constellations against recorded star charts. But finally, the sound of an elcor's droning voice answered. "With great excitement, we have arrived in the Vetus star system."

There was an eruption of clapping and cheering as the entire bridge crew celebrated the successful relay jump. Krom thumped Vaughn on the back, but with such force that the major could have sworn that it nearly dislocated his shoulder.

Harper was silent for a few moments, waiting for the noise to diminish. Then she barked her orders. "All right, that's enough! You can celebrate when we've actually achieved something." She paused to glance at her data pad. "FTL appears to be working properly. Ensign Ithamylos, plot a course for Elysium. The rest of you – I want a full report on primary systems before we reach the planet. And then I want a report on all secondary systems within the hour. Get to it!"

"Congratulations, captain." Vaughn took a step beside Harper.

Harper grunted. "I'm not inclined to celebrate something over which I had no control."

"Can you blame them for being excited?" Vaughn asked with a shrug. "The theories about the mass relays were correct. This means-"

"I know, I know. It means we can finally rebuild," Harper parroted the phrase without enthusiasm. "But I'll hold off on celebrating until we've actually done it."

Vaughn and Krom stood back and watched as the rest of the crew bustled to work. Even though they came from different species and different backgrounds, the major marveled at their efficiency, and how quickly they had acclimated to working with each other. One salarian crewman sitting near Vaughn noticed the man's attention and started explaining everything he was doing in a rapid voice. The minutes raced by.

"Arrival in thirty seconds," the hanar pilot announced.

"Drop us out of FTL in Elysium's orbit," Harper ordered. "We'll perform some preliminary scans of the surface, and then Major Vaughn will take his team down to the planet."

Vaughn had started to turn to Krom and was about to tell the krogan to meet him in the armory in preparation for the mission. But before the words could escape his lips, the Antietam dropped out of FTL, and Vaughn's whole world became chaos.

The first explosion made the whole deck shake and nearly knocked Vaughn off his feet. There came a second, a third, and possibly a fourth – the blasts came in such rapid succession that they were hard to differentiate. He braced himself against the bulkhead, and then half-ran, half-stumbled to Harper's side in the cockpit.

Harper's voice rang out over the din of alarms and shocked cries. "Who the hell is firing on us? Evasive maneuvers, now!"

"Multiple contacts detonating against the hull." Even Ithamylos' normally calm voice had a note of panic in it. "No other ships in orbit… these appear to be drones of some sort."

"Shields failing!" A woman called out from the aisle behind Vaughn. "We can't take this punishment for much longer!"

"That last one damaged the engines, we're losing maneuverability!" another voice shouted.

Outside the cockpit's viewport, the entire galaxy seemed to spin and jolt erratically as the Antietam tried to shake off its pursuers. Vaughn could see flashes of Elysium below, the blur of stars, and the ever-approaching streaks of red light that surrounded the ship.

"Look out!" Krom's voice boomed, and Vaughn could feel a rough hand grab his arm, pulling him away from the command station on which he had been bracing himself. A second later, as Vaughn landed on the floor, he could hear a terrible cracking noise as the very same command station overloaded and exploded.

Harper was still steady on her feet, a single hand grasping the back of the helmsman's chair. "Drop the shields," she commanded. "We need to activate the stealth system!"

Vaughn looked at her in shock. This was a desperate gamble. If the drones were honing in on the ship's heat signature, then the stealth system would hide the Antietam. But hiding a ship's heat signature was the only thing the frigate's stealth system would do, and it required the shield emitters to power down. If the drones had a visual lock, then death would be instant. There was a pause as the pilot came to the same horrifying realization.

"Activate the damn cloak!" screamed Harper.

The brief intervals of silence that followed only seemed to amplify the cacophony of the ship's klaxon alarms. It was a harsh-sounding noise, but the terrible rumbling of explosions had stopped. Harper's gambit had succeeded.

The lighting on the deck was dim and tinged red – indicative that main power had failed, and backup systems were illuminating the ship. Several crew members were on the ground, groaning with pain as they struggled to lift themselves. A few of the command stations across the deck had gone dark, but luckily, it appeared that only the one near Vaughn had overloaded.

Vaughn winced as he rose to his feet. He had landed painfully on his elbows and knees, but he knew that he was lucky. The man turned to thank Krom for saving his life, but froze as he looked behind. Krom was on the floor, a pool of blood beginning to slowly spread beneath him. The krogan had suffered the full brunt of the explosion's blast. Vaughn rushed to the alien's side, but could only hear faint, wheezing breaths.

"Somebody turn off that damn alarm," Harper hissed. When she noticed Krom still lying on the floor, her lips pursed tightly. "How is he?" she asked.

"Still alive, but… I don't know anything about krogan biology," Vaughn admitted.

It didn't take long for Amari Draylos to arrive on the CIC, once Harper had sent a critical injury alert to the medical bay. The drell woman wore a white outfit that matched the pale hue of her scales, but what caught Vaughn off-guard was what she wore on her head. The top half of her face was obscured by a massive visor, wired to several bulky devices at her waist. As she knelt by the unconscious Krom, her fingertips glowed azure with biotic energy, and the visor of her helmet flashed a vibrant green.

"Multiple lacerations caused by shrapnel," Amari began in a matter-of-fact voice. "And several ruptured organs, as well." Her fingers moved deftly in the air a few centimeters above Krom's body, reminding Vaughn of some kind of puppeteer.

"_That visor must be some kind of portable medical imaging device," _Vaughn realized. He could only watch in amazement as Amari used her biotics to probe and feel through Krom's body.

"Will he live?" Harper asked.

"Several ruptured organs… but the redundant organs are picking up the slack." The glow around Amari's fingers ceased as she pulled medi-gel from her pack, applying it liberally to staunch the final trickles of Krom's blood. "If anybody other than a krogan had caught that blast, they would not be so lucky. As long as I get him to the med bay for full surgery, he'll be okay." Amari then gave Vaughn a reassuring smile. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm just lucky Krom was paying attention to that command console…" Vaughn shook his head at his narrow brush with death. "How's the rest of the ship? Any casualties?" He struggled with the question; the thought of losing a crew member so soon into his command was painful.

Amari consulted her data pad, reading the reports as the Antietam's other medics reported in. "Broken bones, concussions, burns, and perhaps a possible case of internal bleeding. No deaths… and I intend to keep it that way."

"Good." Harper began to walk away from the kneeling drell. "I'm headed to the Engineering Deck. I need to know what the hell just happened."

"I'll come with you," Vaughn offered, following after Harper as she limped toward the elevator. As they entered, the doors closed and left the two of them alone.

"Damn it." Harper muttered as soon as the elevator began to move. "Damn it, damn it, damn it…" She repeated the words again and again, her anger seeming to intensify with every hiss. In a sudden flash of rage, her robotic hand shot out, punching the elevator's side wall with a loud bang.

"Be careful. You might break something," cautioned Vaughn.

"It doesn't matter. It's not like it hurts, anyway." Harper stared at her prosthetic limb, listening to the whirring of mechanical servos as she clenched and unclenched her fist.

"It's not your fault," Vaughn urged. "Nobody could have foreseen… whatever this was."

"I shouldn't have dropped out of FTL in the planet's orbit," Harper said, shaking her head. "I walked us right into this trap…." She took a deep breath and leaned against the elevator's back wall, resting her head. "Don't bother trying to make me feel better."

The elevator doors opened to reveal that the Engineering Deck was even more dimly lit than the CIC. In the poor light, Vaughn could see several crew members rushing about between the few stations that were still powered on. The major gritted his teeth – it seemed as if this deck had suffered far more damage.

Vaughn took a few steps into the main Engineering chamber, followed by Harper. But as he passed by one station, his foot caught onto something, sending him flailing for balance.

"Be careful, please. It is still quite dark."

Vaughn could barely make out a short, squat figure standing a few meters in front of him. Hissing noises emanated from the alien's suit after every few words, giving clear evidence that the chief of engineering was volus.

The volus walked past Vaughn and hopped onto what the major had tripped over: a small footstool. The platform evidently allowed the engineering chief to comfortably access control panels designed for humans. As Vaughn's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that there were stools in front of multiple stations around the room.

"Major Daniel Vaughn, this is Chief Vesco Knox, head of Engineering." Harper gestured between the two men.

"Yes, nice to meet you, yes." Vesco spoke distractedly as he cycled through several charts produced on a flickering display.

After several seconds, it became apparent that Vesco would say nothing further, and Harper cleared her throat. "Chief, I have about a hundred questions for you. But in the interest of time, I'll start with two: what the hell was that, and how bad was it?"

Vesco gave an impatient wave of his hand before ejecting a small drive from the console. A quarian engineer rounded a corner, holding what appeared to be a portable holographic emitter. After the emitter was placed on the floor, Vesco slid the drive into a slot in its base.

"We were attacked by what appears to be a rather large fleet of automated drones." The volus accepted a small remote control from his quarian assistant.

"Drones? Like… Reaper drones?" Vaughn asked.

"Of course not," Harper scoffed. "Oculus drones would never have been fooled by the stealth system."

"Indeed," Vesco replied. "But all the same, there is something quite interesting about these."

The holographic emitter hummed to life, projecting what appeared to be a misshapen hunk of metal. But on closer inspection, Vaughn could see that there was clearly a thruster array, as well as a handful of surface-mounted sensor banks. Vesco pressed a few more buttons, and the image zoomed out to show several other drones, no two of them exactly alike. To Vaughn, it seemed as if somebody had constructed a small fleet out of a junkyard's scrap heap.

"The construction of these drones was exceedingly crude," said Vesco. "But they appear to have been programmed with very clever tracking algorithms – they're designed to operate in groups, to trap and detonate against a ship from all sides. The payload carried by each drone isn't much, but for what they lack in force, they make up for in numbers."

The emitter changed to show a projection of the Antietam, surrounded by dozens of smaller shapes. Harper groaned and Vaughn swore.

"Before our RADAR and LADAR scanners were forced offline, they counted at least 43 remaining drones. That is a number we cannot survive."

"It's a good thing that we reacted quickly with the stealth system," Vaughn observed.

"So, we got our asses handed to us by a bunch of scrap metal," Harper lamented. "How badly damaged is the ship?"

Vesco cleared his throat and fidgeted. "It… it is probably easier to state which systems are still operational. Thankfully, the Systems Alliance built multiple redundancies into the life support system, and so we have no need to worry about freezing or suffocating. Additionally, while the shield generators suffered grievous harm, the stealth system remains operational. With multiple systems offline, the heat sinks of the stealth systems should last us for quite a while. At least until…" His voice trailed off.

"Until what?" Harper asked sharply.

"Well…" The volus fidgeted once more. "I should start by saying that the drive core is mostly operational. However, the couplings that allow transfer of the drive's power to the thrusters are not."

Harper grimaced. "So, we're dead in the water. But as long as the cloak holds, we'll survive. Protocol dictates that if the Council has not heard from us in five galactic days, they'll send in another ship to investigate and proceed more carefully."

"Can we send a message sooner?" Vaughn asked.

"Some credit-counting politician decided to hold off on installing the Antietam's QEC," Harper said in derision. "We have comm buoys we could deploy, but the second we jettison one and activate it, the drones will hone in and destroy it."

"That is correct," Vesco admitted. "However, our situation is not quite so simple. When we dropped out of FTL, we still carried a bit of momentum that propelled us forward. Without the capability to adjust our course, we…"

"No." Harper's voice was hoarse. "That can't be."

"I'm afraid so. We're already too close to the planet." Vesco sighed. "Based on our trajectory and a continually decaying orbit, it will take approximately three days until-"

"Until the Antietam crashes," Harper finished, her voice nearly cracking with despair.

"What?" Vaughn's eyes widened. "There's got to be something we can do! Couldn't we salvage parts from the shuttles? Or, as we enter Elysium's atmosphere, couldn't we do something to control and land the ship?"

"The shuttles are incompatible, for their couplings are far too small. And without thrusters or anything to control the angle of our descent, an attempted landing would be… unlikely." Vesco shook his head. "I've run simulations and I've checked our inventories – there is little more I can do."

Harper cursed loudly, but said nothing.

"The shuttles have their own integrated stealth systems," Vaughn pointed out. "We'll need to start ferrying personnel down to the planet."

"A shuttle could make it safely **down** to the planet," Vesco admitted. "But the amount of thrust and power it would take to escape the planet's pull – the stealth systems won't hide everything. The drones would pick up on all that heat instantly, making a return journey to the Antietam very dangerous."

Harper cursed again.

Vaughn started to pace back and forth, kicking aside one of the footstools that threatened to trip him a second time. But then, an idea began to take shape in his head. It would be a long shot, and yet… "You said the shuttle's couplings are incompatible because they are too small. Does this mean if there was a ship of comparable size, then they would be compatible?"

"Possibly, but where would you-" Vesco suddenly turned toward Vaughn. The major was unable to tell because of the chief's enviro-suit, but he imagined that the volus was staring at him in surprise. "Elysium, of course! Yes, yes, that could work! Of course, the chance of success increases if the two ships shared a common manufacturer. Each species has its own 'style' when it comes to ship design."

"Lucky for us, Elysium is an Alliance planet." Harper's eyes widened as she realized what Vaughn was suggesting. "There just **might** be something we can salvage down there!"

"There is still the problem of making it back to the Antietam in one piece," cautioned Vesco. "And we can't be sure that the Reapers left anything down there to salvage."

"It's the only option we have left to save this ship. We'll need to get a team of engineers ready to-"

"No." Vaughn interrupted Harper before she could finish. "Somebody left that mine field up here, and there's no telling what's waiting for us down on the planet. Besides, we have two shuttles. I'm taking my team down there first – Ranid'Xola should be experienced enough to evaluate any spare parts we come across." He met Harper's gaze and held it. "I'll find us what we need."


	7. Veiled Threats

CHAPTER SEVEN: Veiled Threats

"I should be going down there with you."

Amari Draylos and Daniel Vaughn stood in the shuttle bay, watching as the rest of Vaughn's team boarded one of the Kodiak shuttles. The flight crew had finished performing final checks, and personnel were beginning to clear the area.

"You're the ship's chief medical officer; I'm not sure that would be a good idea." Vaughn adjusted the weapons holster attached to the back of his combat suit. His new black and silver armor still felt foreign to him, and so he was glad to have familiar weapons on-hand. He felt to his waist, where several pouches of tightly-packed thermal clips rested. _"Enough to fight a small war..."_ he reflected.

"My training has **also** made me this ship's most qualified combat medic," Amari countered. "Don't think I'm going to spend this entire expedition cooped up in the med bay."

Vaughn nodded as he started to count the power packs for his kinetic barriers. "Well... for now, that's where we need you. My team is small enough already without its krogan."

Amari made a dismissive noise. "You don't need to worry about Krom. He's already regained consciousness and asked to try on my medical imaging visor. I suspect he wants to try and use it to peek on the pretty asari nurse..." She shook her head in apparent frustration, yet a slight smile illustrated her amusement. Yet when Vaughn answered her with another distracted nod, the drell woman paused and lowered her voice. "How are you feeling about this? I know you must have some concerns about taking an untested squad down there."

"It can't be helped." Vaughn shrugged. "I'm still hoping that this is all some kind of misunderstanding. Those drones that attacked us were automated, after all."

In truth, Vaughn's worries festered in the back of his mind. There were many unknowns: what would await them on Elysium, how his team would perform together, and perhaps most concerning – how **he **would perform. It seemed almost absurd that this mission should be a worry; he had fought Reapers, and no enemy could be more terrifying. The Alliance had trained him to be one of the best, and yet it had been seven years since the Reaper War. He had performed well at the warehouse where Amari had been rescued, but that had been a one-sided skirmish where the Alliance had given him the advantage of superior training, weaponry, and intel. However, regardless of the doubts, Vaughn knew what was expected of him. His crew could be shown nothing less than unyielding confidence.

Vaughn noticed Amari's concerned gaze, and he remembered her uncanny ability to detect discomfort or anxiety. He made an effort to recompose himself and show a nonchalant grin. "I swear – as soon as we get out of this, I'm finding the bastard who held off on this ship's QEC. Then, I'm kicking his ass." He chuckled, but found himself seriously considering the beating.

A hint of mischief crept into Amari's voice. "I'll hold his arms behind his back, and you punch."

"Oh?" Vaughn gave her a look of mock surprise. "Whatever happened to 'Do No Harm'?"

"I'm drell – the physicians' creed of you humans doesn't apply to me."

There was a brief whistle as the senior member of the flight crew signaled to Vaughn, indicating that the shuttle was only waiting on him before departure. Vaughn nodded his acknowledgment and turned back to Amari.

The drell woman's eyes lingered on the shuttle. "Just be careful down there, Vaughn. Play it safe – you don't need to prove yourself to anybody here, or on the Council." She touched him on the arm, her fingertips imperceptible through the dense plating. "And if you absolutely must get shot, at least wait until I'm around to patch you up."

* * *

The UT-47B Kodiak ascended from the shuttle bay's floor as the artificial gravity released its hold. The pilot allowed the craft only a brief burst of thrust from the engines before cutting them off, allowing the momentum to carry her out of the shuttle bay and into the void of space.

"Once we enter the atmosphere, the drones aren't likely to follow us or they'll burn up." The shuttle pilot, a young sandy-haired woman, whispered to Vaughn as he stood behind her seat. "That's when I'll reengage the engines and fire up the scanners to get a better look down below."

Whispering was unnecessary, and yet it was something the shuttle's occupants did unwittingly – the knowledge that fiery death waited on all sides tended to have such a sobering effect. The shuttle's stealth system was hiding their heat signature, but as an extra layer of precaution, the pilot powered down most systems to keep the heat sinks well below critical threshold.

The visual displays that could act as a viewport remained dark, for the external cameras were off - there was no benefit to seeing what waited for them outside. But that didn't stop Vaughn's imagination from picturing the scene. In his mind, he could see dark shapes, silhouettes against the bright blue sphere of Elysium below. Tiny red lights blinked constantly, scattered across misshapen metallic hulls...

"You should strap yourself in for the approach, sir. It'll get a little bumpy." The pilot gave Vaughn a nervous smile.

The major nodded, clearing his head. He made his way to the rear of the shuttle and sat down, glancing at the rest of his team. He sat between Nyla and Alexei, and across from the three other members who were still strangers to him.

Ezelle Maré gave the major a smile and a nod as he sat. Vaughn knew the violet-skinned asari was quite young for a commando, but her exceptional gifts in biotics had earned her the promotion. A glance at her weaponry revealed nothing too surprising: an asari-made shotgun and SMG.

Ranid'Xola stared at the floor of the shuttle, doing his best to avoid eye contact. At least, Vaughn assumed Ranid was avoiding eye contact – it was difficult to tell with the quarian's tinted helmet. The major raised an eyebrow upon seeing the weapons Ranid had brought. While Ezelle's load-out was standard and predictable, Ranid had equipped geth-manufactured weaponry: a pulse rifle, and a vicious sniper rifle that was colloquially referred to as the 'Javelin'. This was evidence of one peculiar aspect of the war's aftermath. The quarians and the geth had made peace in the months prior to the Battle of Earth. And so, when the Crucible tragically annihilated the synthetic species as collateral damage, the quarians found themselves in sole possession of incredibly advanced technology. They still suffered from a woefully small population, but in just seven years, the quarians had gone from galactic pariahs to one of the most technically advanced civilizations in the galaxy.

Kiros Myzet met Vaughn's gaze, his narrowed obsidian eyes studying the human with what seemed to be silent amusement. The waist of Kiros' STG uniform had wide black pouches strapped to the sides, allowing the salarian to conceal whatever compact weaponry he chose to bring. This didn't surprise Vaughn, given the reputation of the salarian Special Tasks Group.

"It's unfortunate that our first assignment together is under these circumstances," Vaughn announced. "But if there's one thing that I learned from your files, it's that each of you is among the best. We're not at full strength, and we don't know what's waiting for us down below, but everybody back on the Antietam needs us. Stay alert, and we'll do what needs to be done." As if on cue, there was a rumbling sensation as the ship entered Elysium's upper atmosphere.

"Activating scanners now," the pilot called back from the cockpit. "We're not too far away from the cities on the northern hemisphere, or rather… what's left of them…" She cleared her throat. "The capital city of Illyria seems to be the most intact. Some buildings are still standing, but other than that there's just a whole lot of forest."

"Take us just above the forest canopy as soon as you can," Vaughn ordered. "If there are hostiles, I don't want to give them any advance warning. Find a spot a couple kilometers from the capital city and land – we'll take it from there."

* * *

"I can barely see a damn thing." Alexei was the first to step from the shuttle and into the sharp morning air of Elysium's forests.

Vaughn followed after Alexei, and discovered that the trunks of Elysium's massive trees were ringed with a dense white mist. "I spent some time on Elysium before the war," the major recalled. "At certain times of the year, this wasn't uncommon in the early morning hours. It shouldn't be too long before the mist clears up a bit."

"Should we wait until then?" asked Ezelle.

"No need," Ranid spoke softly as he tapped the side of his enviro-suit's helmet. Vaughn saw what he thought were flickers of color reflecting off the quarian's visor. But after a second, it became clear that the helmet's face was actually a display screen, giving the quarian tactical readouts of his surroundings. "I do not read any foreign heat signatures in the general vicinity," the quarian said.

Vaughn placed a hand on Alexei's shoulder and turned him away from the rest of the group. "Alexei, I'm going to need you to stay here with the shuttle."

"What? Why?" The ex-Cerberus man frowned.

"Because of this mist, I don't want the pilot here all by herself with the shuttle. And I don't like the idea of keeping it in the air, in case whoever set up those mines decides to take a shot."

"Look," Alexei grumbled in a low voice. "If this is about what I said before – regarding loyalties and humanity-"

"This is because out of everybody on this team, I trust you the most," Vaughn interrupted. "This shuttle is our lifeline down here. And if I were speaking to anybody other than you, this would be an order. No questions asked."

Alexei nodded and holstered his shotgun. "You can count on me."

"Good." Turning back to the rest of his team, Vaughn raised his voice. "We'll stay in formation with Ranid taking point, since he has the most visibility here. Alexei will stay with the shuttle. We'll move quickly, but quietly."

The remaining five soldiers moved deeper into the mist-obscured forest. Ranid was at the front, with Ezelle at the far left and Kiros at the far right. Nyla brought up the rear, leaving Vaughn in the center of the group. With the naked eye they could barely see more than a few meters in front of them, and so Ranid's guidance was invaluable.

It had occurred to Vaughn that Ranid's shy, nervous nature was something to keep an eye on. But as he watched, the quarian seemed to be performing his tasks without issue. _"Maybe it's because he's now in a small unit, and not on a crowded ship?" _Vaughn wondered. _"Or maybe he does better on solid ground." _Vaughn pushed the distraction from his mind – Ranid was a mystery he would have to try and solve later.

After nearly half an hour of silent movement, Kiros gave the signal to halt. The salarian's nasally voice hissed to his companions. "Do you hear that?"

Vaughn paused and kept still, trying to block out the ambient noise of the forest. At first, it seemed that there was nothing out of the ordinary. But a heartbeat later, there was a sudden crescendo of faint noise: booms and intermittent staccatos that were very familiar to Vaughn.

"Weapons fire." Nyla spoke through clenched teeth.

"It's still a long ways off," Ezelle observed.

Vaughn glanced warily at his mist-shrouded surroundings. "That's true, but don't let your guard down." Instinctively, his finger inched closer to his assault rifle's trigger.

Minutes passed in tense silence, but Ranid noticed nothing on his visor. However, he did warn that dense patches of forest with their thick tree trunks could obscure heat signatures nearby. The quarian judged that the effective range of his visor was less than one hundred meters in this environment.

"It still sounds pretty quiet," Nyla murmured. The noise of gunfire had become louder as they moved, but not by much.

"Might mean that the fight is moving away from us as we're getting closer," Vaughn said. "The fight – or whatever it is – could be dying down."

They had only moved another fifty meters or so when loud, angry shouting brought them to a halt. There hadn't been any gunfire nearby, but the sound of voices caught the group off-guard. Vaughn signaled Ranid forward to get a better look.

"Seven. No… Eight." Ranid's voice came in through the comm link. "Human, I think – but it's hard to be sure with just a thermal reading."

"We'll keep our distance and observe for now," said Vaughn after a moment's thought. "No need to-"

"One of them is kneeling on the ground now." Ranid's voice suddenly cut in. "The others… I think they intend to shoot this individual."

"We still shouldn't get involved," Nyla warned.

"And let somebody get executed in cold blood?" Ezelle hissed. "We can't just stand here and do nothing!"

The turian woman scoffed. "We have no idea what the situation is. If we go in there now, we risk making things a whole lot worse, particularly for ourselves."

"That's enough." Vaughn's commanding tone silenced the argument. "We'll move in closer and take hidden positions in a half-circle around the group. If I think we should intervene, I'll do the talking. And if I want you to open fire, I'll be the first to pull the trigger."

They came upon a small forest clearing, one where the mist had thinned just enough for Vaughn to see humanoid shapes. He kept his finger on the trigger of his N7 Typhoon, yet he kept the weapon aimed at the ground. There was no sign of the rest of Vaughn's team, but he expected that.

"We should just kill her now. Isara doesn't negotiate," a female voice urged, presumably directed at a man who pointed his pistol at the kneeling figure.

"We have our orders." The man with the pistol spoke with little fervor, as if he was tempted by his comrade's words.

"Isara might negotiate for **her**," a third voice suggested. "She's different than the others; Isara cares about what happens to her little pet."

"That's true," the first voice agreed. "And that's all the more reason why we should kill her – slowly."

A slight breeze stirred the mist, giving Vaughn a better view of the figures in the clearing. Then he caught a glimpse of the kneeling prisoner, and his teeth clenched in sudden anger.

The girl was young – probably no older than seventeen or eighteen. She kept her raven-colored hair long and tied in a single ponytail that hung down to the small of her back. Unlike the others in the clearing who wore mismatched body armor, the young woman wore a torn gray shirt over black pants and muddied boots. Her captors wielded assault rifles, but only the man with the pistol kept his weapon raised and pointed at the back of her head.

"That's enough." Vaughn edged out from behind a tree – not enough to make him an easy target, but enough to show himself and the weapon he wielded. "My name is Major Daniel Vaughn with the Council Naval Forces. Put down your weapons."

The figures in the clearing did not put their weapons down, but they were careful enough not to make any aggressive movements.

"Council Naval Forces?" The leader with the pistol sounded the words as if they were some foreign language. "Interesting choice for a bluff. But if you think you can gun down seven armed people by yourself, then-"

"Who says I'm by myself?" Vaughn challenged. He then called out, his voice ringing over the small clearing. "Ranid, there's a small rock three meters from where he's standing. Give us a demonstration of that Javelin, if you please."

If the geth had possessed a name for the weapon which the quarians nicknamed 'Javelin', then it had been lost when the Crucible exterminated their species. The sniper rifle had earned its name for the small volume of ferrofluid that when fired, resembled a javelin made of lethal light.

The stone, about the size of a human head, exploded. In its place, faintly glowing fragments of molten rock lay scattered atop a blackened patch of earth. The heads of the figures in the clearing darted around as they tried to place where the shot had come from. Vaughn half-smiled, knowing Ranid would have shifted position after firing.

The man with the pistol nodded his admiration. "I wasn't aware Isara still had weapons like that."

"I already told you," Vaughn called back. "We're from the Council. I don't know what the hell this is, but I'm putting a stop to it. Put down your weapons. **Now**. "

It was silent for several moments as the man considered Vaughn's words. He shifted and said something in a low voice to the rest of his people, which Vaughn was unable hear. Then he shouted back to the major. "It would take over a decade for ships at FTL to reach us from Earth. No… I don't recognize you, and so the only thing that makes sense is that you're survivors that somehow got here from the southern continent. I can only imagine the stories Isara must have told you. The lies…"

"I have no idea who this 'Isara' person is!" exclaimed Vaughn. "And we didn't get here by FTL. Your mass relay has been repairing itself for the last seven years." There was silence as the soldiers stared at him, their expressions ranging from bewilderment to distrust.

"Isara likes her little tricks. I'd like to believe you-"

"Damn it, this isn't some trick!" Vaughn shot back, his face taut with frustration. "Just put down your weapons and everybody lives! I won't tell you again."

"I want to believe you, but can we take that risk? Risk being taken alive by that witch Isara?" The man's followers murmured their agreement. "'Everybody lives'? Do you know who **she** is? What she's done?" The man gestured angrily with the pistol, stabbing the air with the gun's barrel in his prisoner's direction. His face contorted with fury. "In the end, I suppose it doesn't matter whether you're telling the truth or not. The idea was to take her alive to Illyria, but if that wasn't possible, a message needed to be sent. Everybody lives? No. Not her. Tell that to Isara."

Vaughn cursed and raised his weapon, even though he knew right away that his reaction would be too slow. _"He's willing to risk a firefight in the open?" _Vaughn thought incredulously. _"My God… He's willing to get himself _**and**_ his people killed for revenge on some teenage girl?" _Vaughn began to shout into his communicator, with the intention of having Nyla or Ezelle intervene with their biotics.

But in that split-second, the air next to the pistol-wielding man shimmered. Kiros Myzet seemed to materialize out of nothingness, and before his tactical cloak could fully disengage, he struck. There was the telltale reddish gleam of a monomolecular blade as one dagger bit into the man's underarm. A second blade in Kiros' other hand slashed the back of his opponent's neck. The pistol tumbled from his victim's nerveless grasp.

The dead man's comrades had been in the process of dropping to the ground, an attempt to become smaller targets for the firefight that they anticipated. Yet, when they noticed Kiros, they froze awkwardly, many of them in mid-crouch. A few reacted to avenge the death of their leader, their assault rifles lifting. Unfortunately, the initial confusion had cost them precious seconds. Within a heartbeat's span, Kiros was among them, darting forward and slicing with deadly precision. Kiros' tremendous speed reminded Vaughn of how Amari had moved, but while her movements had been fluid and graceful, his were brutal and vicious.

Kiros sliced his first enemy across the throat, the dagger's bite reaching bone. Two more cuts – as quick as a serpent's strike – rendered the trigger arm of another opponent completely useless. The man was still trying to comprehend the blood streaming from his arm as Kiros stabbed and retracted the knife above the man's collar bone, the movement nothing more than a blur. An instant later Kiros was moving again, past the fallen man to savage a third enemy's unprotected chest.

Vaughn cursed again. Kiros' close proximity to the soldiers meant that enemies couldn't easily fire at the salarian, but it also meant that Vaughn dare not fire either. This was not true for all of Vaughn's team, however.

"Major, should we-" Nyla's voice crackled from Vaughn's communicator.

"Give him back-up! Damn it all… we're committed now…" Vaughn spat.

The distinct sound of Ranid's Javelin echoed, followed by the pained cries of two soldiers as the single ferrofluidic shot lanced through both men. One enemy was levitated into the air biotically before being slammed back to earth – whether this was Ezelle or Nyla, Vaughn was unsure.

Vaughn could only watch the chaos unfold as he sprinted from the tree line. As he closed the distance, he prepared to fire, yet by the time he was close enough to take a shot without risking Kiros, it was over. Ezelle and Nyla followed Vaughn's lead, converging in on the carnage from opposite directions. Ranid stepped out from the forest as well, but kept his distance as he surveyed the scene through his rifle's scope.

"Five dead by my count, the rest wounded." Kiros wiped his monomolecular daggers on a corpse at his feet. He spoke in a manner-of-fact tone, as if he were simply discussing the weather. For all his frantic activity in the prior moments, he didn't even seem to be breathing heavily.

"You run something like that by me **first**." Vaughn's voice was a low growl.

"I can take care of myself," the salarian responded in an icy tone.

Vaughn flung an arm to motion at the bodies around him. "That's not the issue. You wait for my signal before getting us into a fight. **I **give the order."

Kiros looked as if he was about to argue further, but the sound of a gunshot interrupted them both.

At the start of the fight, the young captive woman had rolled to the side and kept close to the ground to avoid getting hit. And because she had stayed there the entire time, Vaughn's squad was caught off-guard as she sprung to her feet, grabbed a fallen pistol, and fired repeatedly at one of the wounded soldiers. As she turned to fire on the other wounded, Vaughn seized her arm and wrenched the pistol from her grip.

"That's enough!" Vaughn's eyes flashed angrily.

For the first time, Vaughn was able to see the young woman up close. He had been correct in guessing that she was in her late teens, but he saw now that she was no child. Her eyes looked at him dispassionately, her face devoid of expression. Vaughn had expected fear or anger… but there was none of that. He was reminded of refugees he had seen from the war, of survivors who had suffered terribly during the worst of the Reaper's invasion. They had become bleak, hollow, and numb to the world.

"I-I'm sorry," Ranid stammered as he approached the group. "I saw her moving, but I wasn't sure if I should fire. We did this to save her… correct?"

The young woman looked away from Vaughn to study the rest of his team. She stopped and stared as soon as she noticed Nyla and Ranid. "A turian… and a quarian." Her voice held a note of surprise.

"Yeah? What about it?" Nyla challenged.

"Nothing." The woman shrugged. "Just… nothing."

"Major, we need to go." The pitch of Ranid's voice rose in sudden alarm. His visor had lit up once more to scan the surroundings. "Shapes from the east."

"How many?"

"They appear and disappear as they move through the cover of trees, so it's hard to tell. But I would guess that there are more than we want to deal with. They're coming from the east… and also the southeast."

"The shuttle is south of here; we're nearly cut off." Nyla hefted her Phaeston assault rifle and focused on the trees, anticipating enemies the emergence of enemies.

"We don't know if they're hostile," Ezelle offered.

"Not going to take that risk. We're going to start heading in the opposite direction." Vaughn turned to the strange woman. "And for now, you're coming with us. What's your name?"

"Cassandra Liu," the woman replied simply. "But I go by Cass. I'm going to need a gun – if people are coming from that direction, then they're probably not mine."

"Not a chance." Vaughn pushed Cass toward Ezelle so that the asari woman could keep an eye on her. He reached to his helmet to signal the shuttle. "Alexei, it's Vaughn. We have potential hostiles closing in on us, cutting off our route back to the shuttle. We're going to proceed northwest, but I need you to get the shuttle in the air and take her south, away from this mess. When things are secure, I'll give you coordinates so that you can meet up with us."

"Understood." Alexei's voice was curt and professional, not betraying an ounce of surprise. "Will you be okay, sir?"

"Yeah." Vaughn sounded more confident than he felt. "Just stay hidden for now and maintain radio silence. I'll contact you first."

"And what do we do about him?" Kiros pointed at a single enemy who still lived, but had gone unconscious from blood loss.

Vaughn blinked in surprise. He hadn't noticed it at first, but the chest piece of the wounded man's body armor was Systems Alliance standard issue. Much of the paint had worn off and dirt had obscured the insignia while the rest of the man's body armor was a hodge-podge of ill-fitting items. Vaughn gritted his teeth, beginning to wonder if they had made a grievous error. But he knew there was no time to interrogate the man or to second-guess what had been done.

"There's been enough death today." Vaughn knelt and pulled out a pack of medi-gel. "We'll get him stable, and then leave him for his friends. Whoever he's with, they need to know that we're a Council expedition."

"A Council expedition who just slaughtered his entire squad," Nyla added dryly.

Vaughn said nothing but finished applying the medi-gel to staunch most of the man's bleeding. When that was done, he stood and signaled to the rest of his team. It was time to go.


	8. Exile

CHAPTER EIGHT: Exile

The escape northwest took Vaughn and his team even deeper into the forest. As they weaved through the massive trunks, the ground began to slope downward, and the lower elevation seemed to bring a thicker mist. The blinding fog caused Vaughn to trip over tree roots, but he took solace in the fact that Ranid no longer saw heat signatures on his visor. As a result, the rest of the squad seemed to relax, and so the tense silence subsided.

"You really are from the Council, aren't you?" Cass asked softly.

"We are." Vaughn nodded. "We came here on the CSV Antietam. I was telling the truth when I said your mass relay had been repairing itself."

"I see…"

"And you believe us, just like that?" Kiros' voice held a slight mocking edge.

Vaughn shot the salarian a tired look. The major still knew he needed to confront Kiros about disobeying his orders and that it would need to happen soon. But now was not the time.

"I do." Cass gestured toward Ranid and Nyla. "They're all the proof that I need."

"Why **are** you so fascinated by me and the quarian?" Nyla narrowed her eyes at Cass. For the entire march, the young woman had been stealing looks at the two soldiers.

Cass shrugged. "I don't mean to stare. It's just that it's been seven years since I've seen a turian or a quarian."

"Seven years? What happened, did the Reapers kill them all?" Ezelle asked.

"No…"

"If I were to guess," interjected Ranid, his voice somber. "There's not much naturally growing on Elysium for a dextro-based lifeform to eat. Am I correct?"

"Yes, that's right. They starved – all of them."

"Oh spirits…" Nyla grimaced.

"I think we can rest here for a little bit," Vaughn announced. They were still deep within the forest, but they had arrived at an area where there was a little more room between the trees. "I think now's a good time for you to tell me what the hell is going on down here." Vaughn met Cass' gaze as he set himself next to her on the ground.

"You first. Tell me about the war and everything since, and then I'll tell you what I know." Cass' arms crossed, her face rigid in an expression of defiance.

Vaughn gave an exasperated sigh, but judged that it would be simpler to avoid arguing. While he and the rest of his squad settled into a small circle on the forest floor, he began recalling events: the Reaper War, the Battle of Earth, and the Crucible. As Vaughn talked of the war's events, the other members of his team chimed in, adding in their own perspectives.

The telling proved enlightening for Vaughn as well. He learned that Nyla and her cabal had spent the war evacuating many of the volus colonies, part of a unit that prided itself on being "first in, last out". Ranid had fought in the skies above Rannoch before a last minute ceasefire was brokered by Commander Shepard. The ship he served on, the Turelia, had been at the Citadel to purchase supplies when the Reapers struck, stranding him in the Serpent Nebula. Ezelle – to Vaughn's surprise – had come to Earth in the fleet led by Admiral Hackett, and had fought the Reapers in the streets of London. What was not surprising to Vaughn was that Kiros revealed little about his involvement with the STG during the war. He only mentioned that it dealt partially with Cerberus, a fact that made Vaughn wince as the major thought of the inevitable tension with Alexei.

Cass listened with rapt attention. And when all of the war stories were told, Vaughn proceeded to talk about the postwar reconstruction: the establishing of the new Galactic Council, the revelation about the mass relay network, and the subsequent expedition.

When Vaughn and the others finished, Cass cleared her throat. "All of the galactic races working together. It sounds… nice."

"Well it's not perfect," Nyla admitted. "But it works okay, most of the time."

Vaughn nodded in Cass' direction. "Now, it's your turn."

"I was a student at Grissom Academy," Cass began. "I was studying mathematics and engineering."

"Grissom Academy? I heard the Alliance evacuated the students," Vaughn recalled.

"They did… but I had been on the planet with my parents. The Alliance didn't have enough ships and they ran out of time trying to make a full evacuation of Elysium. It was chaos. There were crowds of people flooding the spaceports, bringing everything they owned to try and buy their escape. It didn't take long for people to start shooting each other. And there's been gunfire ever since… As you can probably tell, the death of the Reapers didn't change that." Cass was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees lightly to her chest. But even as she told the story, Vaughn noticed that her face was still set in its cold, passionless visage.

"What about your parents?" Ezelle asked, her eyes wide with sympathy.

"My mother was killed by a stray bullet when panic swept through the spaceport. My father was killed later, by the Reapers."

"Oh Goddess… I'm so sorry…"

"It happened a long time ago. Eventually you realize that crying about it doesn't fix anything." Cass gave a barely perceptible shrug. "When the Reapers died, we flocked to Illyria, since it was the only place to offer enough shelter. The Reapers had been using it as their main processing camp. It was hard to get an exact count, but it was estimated that there were maybe six thousand of us left."

Vaughn shook his head in disbelief. "Six thousand? Elysium had a population of over eight million before the war…"

"That's the problem with fighting synthetics. Not needing to eat or sleep makes for ruthless efficiency," remarked Kiros.

"We didn't have much," Cass continued. "Elysium was never much of an agrarian planet. Not on this continent, anyway. The Reapers had food processors to turn the normally inedible plants into a barely digestible gruel for their captives. Unluckily for us, when those monsters started keeling over, they weren't too careful about what they landed on. We salvaged and repaired a few processors, but it wasn't enough… not even for a population of our size. One man took charge as our leader: Commander Elias Fletcher." Although Cass' tone had been flat and even during her tale, Vaughn thought he detected a sudden hint of venom in how she pronounced the name. "He's a clever man, and since he was a high-ranking officer of the Systems Alliance, we put our trust in him."

"I didn't know there was any military left behind on Elysium," Vaughn said.

"He stayed behind on purpose, I think. In the days before the Reapers arrived, he and his crew had the idea to partially disassemble and hide a ship in the mountains of Elysium."

"A ship?" Vaughn asked, perking up.

Cass shrugged. "A small one – just some scouting frigate, I think."

It was as if a jolt of electricity passed through Vaughn's team. Ranid, who had been cleaning the barrel of his Javelin, nearly dropped the weapon in surprise. Vaughn felt a stirring of hope in his chest – there was a good chance that a functioning Alliance frigate would have what the Antietam needed.

If Cass noticed the unusual reaction, she chose to ignore it. "Fletcher's idea was to rebuild the frigate in secret during the occupation of Elysium. While all the Reaper defenses stayed focused on the mass relay, he planned to stage a surprise attack from their rear. Of course, it soon became apparent how outmatched we were, and the frigate remained hidden. But once the Reapers were gone, Fletcher took the frigate into space, in an attempt to reach the mass relay and bring back help."

"And that's when he made another terrible discovery," Vaughn guessed.

Cass nodded solemnly. "Elysium's a bit like Earth – no natural element zero deposits to speak of. What little was stored here had been taken by the Reapers, leaving us no way to repair the relay. But that night, when Fletcher and his crew returned, he urged all of us to stay calm. He said he had a plan that would be unveiled in the morning. And people trusted him. But then, in the dead of night, he gathered people loyal to him. They took hold of most of the weapons and rounded up anybody who wasn't human."

Vaughn gritted his teeth; he had a sinking feeling about where this was going.

"Fletcher said there wasn't enough food to support all of us. Since Elysium was an Alliance planet – a **human **planet – he ordered that all aliens were to leave the city." Cass shook her head. "He gave them a single day's rations, and then sent them into the woods at gunpoint."

"And… nobody did anything? Nobody fought back? Nobody stood up to him?" Ezelle asked in astonishment.

"He had all the guns," Cass replied simply.

"And the food." Nyla sucked in her breath before releasing it in an audible, drawn-out sigh. "It would be the easiest thing in the world to sit back and do nothing if saved you from starvation. It doesn't matter what species you are. The instinct for self-preservation is universal."

"But not everybody accepted his decision." Ezelle leaned forward. "You went against him, didn't you?"

"I… I was twelve years old." Hugging her knees more tightly, Cass averted her eyes from the asari and fixed her gaze upon the dirt. "After my father died, I survived the Reapers with the help of a small resistance group. Aliens and humans worked together… fought and died together. I was a twelve year old girl with a stubborn sense of what was right and what wasn't – and I couldn't accept what Fletcher did. I stole a shuttlecraft with some supplies and flew it toward the forest."

Vaughn gave an admiring nod. However, he had noticed something else in her words. It almost sounded as if she wasn't proud of her actions – it was more like she was trying to justify what she had done. He studied her in silence.

"As a twelve year old human, you managed to steal a shuttle?" Kiros asked incredulously.

"I already had easy access to the shuttles, and it's simple enough to pilot one when you understand how everything works. Fletcher used to say that I was his best engineer."

"Grissom Academy was a school for some of the brightest children in Alliance space," Vaughn explained. "Many of them are geniuses, in fact."

Cass shrugged off the praise. "It was nothing difficult. I brought the shuttle into the woods, and the Matriarch Isara thanked me herself."

"**Matriarch **Isara?" Ezelle's mouth fell open. "I heard those soldiers in the clearing talking about somebody named Isara, but I never thought she would be here!"

Vaughn turned to Ezelle. "You know her?"

"Not personally," Ezelle admitted. "But she's a matriarch, so many of them tend to be well-known among my people. Most matriarchs become leaders of the asari and never stray far from our territory. But Isara made it a point to wander in places like the Terminus Systems or the Attican Traverse, giving guidance to young asari maidens who explored life far from home. It was assumed that she had died when the Reapers came."

"Matriarch Isara is a good leader." Cass nodded. "Things would have completely fallen apart if it weren't for her. We lived off of what few edible plants we could find in the forest, and whatever small woodland rodents and birds we could trap. But it was never quite enough… there was disease and hunger. Over a thousand people were forced out of Illyria, but after that first winter, a third had died."

Ezelle's mouth dropped open. "That's horrible."

"We got better – smarter – as time went on," the black-haired woman explained. "But despite our best efforts, our numbers dwindle. There are only about four hundred of us left now. And food has become increasingly scarce in this part of the forest. It seems Fletcher and his people have run low on food as well, for they're sending out scavenging parties more and more frequently. At the vanguard of these groups, he sends armed soldiers, and skirmishes break out. When you came along, you had just witnessed another one of our defeats."

"So… from what you're saying, there are about four hundred here in the forest and probably just under five thousand humans in Illyria." Vaughn scratched at the stubble on his face, contemplating the numbers.

"There's no way of telling how many people Fletcher has lost these last seven years, but I imagine they've had it a lot easier," Cass agreed.

"So why settle here?" Kiros asked. "You could have gone further south for warmer climates and fewer genocidal neighbors."

"Water," was Cass' curt reply. "There are a handful of small lakes in the area, but beyond that, the rivers to the south are far away. One barely-working shuttle low on fuel isn't enough to move so many people."

Vaughn felt sympathy for what Cass and the exiles must have gone through. But he remembered Fletcher's soldiers back in the clearing. They had possessed an obvious fear of being taken by Isara, and Cass was an object of intense hatred for them. "_What has survival meant for these people here on Elysium?" _he wondered.

Before Vaughn could inquire further, there was a sudden commotion in the nearby forest. The harsh cacophony of flapping wings and agitated squawking sounded as a flock of birds abruptly took flight. Vaughn and his team sprung to their feet and faced the noise's direction.

"Ranid." Vaughn didn't need to say more, for the faceplate of the quarian's visor activated instantly.

"I-I'm seeing… I think it's a single shape. Big."

Cass swore and for the first time, Vaughn noted emotion on the young woman's face: fear. "Fletcher made only one exception to his exile. I need a gun – now! You all need to move!" She began to back away with faltering steps.

"Dammit, he's fast!" Ranid's tone became panicked as he scrambled for his weapon. He fired from the hip and into the mist, but judging by the sound of splintering bark, the rushed shot had missed.

Vaughn drew his N7 Typhoon. "Ranid, what do you-"

He never got the chance to finish. A massive figure burst through the mist, leaping high into the air as it appeared. Streams of white mist and azure biotic energy trailed in its wake. Vaughn and his team had been arrayed in a circle as they recessed among the trees, and with an earth-shaking thud, the enemy landed in their center as over a hundred kilograms of weight impacted the ground. As it landed, a sudden burst of biotic energy erupted in all directions, causing a shockwave that knocked the unsuspecting team off their feet.

While Vaughn tried to shake away the stars that clouded his vision, he could see red eyes and mottled yellow skin. It was a krogan. The alien was partially obscured by a bluish haze, and it took Vaughn a second to realize that the anomaly was real and not caused by his painful tumble. The krogan had surrounded itself with a dense biotic barrier – one so powerful that it distorted the sight of his entire body.

"You!" The krogan boomed, pointing at the still-sprawling Cass. In one hand the krogan held an assault rifle as if it were nothing more than a pistol. But what he held in his other hand made Vaughn's blood run cold. It was a long pole, roughly a meter and a half in length, with a jagged edge of metal tied to the end. The weapon's construction looked crude, but its shape was undeniable. The krogan had made himself a battle axe. The blade looked perilously sharp and discolored – whether this was rust or dried blood, Vaughn was unable to tell.

Vaughn and the krogan moved simultaneously – Vaughn to his feet and the krogan in a sudden mad dash toward Cass. The major had been next to the woman from the start, and so when the shockwave knocked everyone to the ground, he was the closest to her. In just a few steps, Vaughn was standing over the woman, placing himself between her and the krogan. Noticing that she still reeled from the biotic impact, he aimed at the charging krogan and squeezed the trigger.

The krogan was fast, faster than Vaughn could have imagined, given the alien's massive size. As the stream of hyper-accelerated particles sliced the air, the krogan shifted, allowing the fringes of his biotic barrier to deflect them.

Vaughn took a step back and started to fire another burst, but stopped and swore. The krogan was on him.

The axe swung in a vicious downward blow that threatened to cleave Vaughn's head in half. The major jerked backwards to avoid the strike, then sidestepped to avoid the impossibly quick backswing. Vaughn found himself in a desperate retreat to place distance between himself and his opponent. He had kinetic barriers, but shields were only able to stop bullets, and not something relatively slow like a melee weapon.

But as Vaughn narrowly dodged yet another attack, he felt a sudden pull on his ankles. His feet went out from under him. As he landed painfully on his back, he noticed the krogan's fist unclench, and the fading of a temporary biotic shimmer. Dismayed, Vaughn realized that he had misjudged the krogan's biotic ability. He had assumed that the krogan was using all his strength to maintain the barrier, and was thus unable to use further attacks. Vaughn had never met anybody with such raw biotic power.

The krogan gave a savage roar and hefted the axe back, preparing to hack downward and end the brief struggle. Vaughn gritted his teeth and pulled the rifle to his shoulder – a final, desperate gamble to try and break through the krogan's barrier at close range. He could do nothing else.

A blue flash of light in their periphery interrupted them both. The azure streak sped even faster than the krogan had moved, and impacted the large alien at full speed. Any other species would have been sent flying from such an attack, but the krogan merely staggered back several paces. However, that was enough for Vaughn, who let loose another spray of bullets.

After striking the krogan, the streak of light rebounded into the air, slowing as it reached the apex of flight to reveal Ezelle's lithe form. In her hands, she already held the Disciple shotgun which barked twice as it fired two rapid rounds of shot.

The krogan growled and braced himself, focusing all his biotic power in the direction of the assault. And by some twisted miracle, the combined firepower of Vaughn and Ezelle failed to breach the barriers. Realizing that the close-quarters carnage he preferred wasn't possible on this new foe, the krogan drew up his assault rifle and aimed it at Ezelle.

Yet instead of firing bullets, the assault rifle instead gave off a blinding shower of sparks. The krogan gave a grunt of surprise. However, when he pulled the trigger again, the weapon gave only a hollow knocking sound, and a gray smoke arose from the charred remains of its overloaded circuitry. Kiros – still lying on his back from the initial biotic strike – gave a smirk of triumph, a grin illuminated by his active omni-tool.

By now the rest of Vaughn's team had recovered. Nyla was on her feet, focusing her biotic energy with palms raised and pointed in the krogan's direction. Kneeling by her side, Ranid had the Javelin at his shoulder, his visor faintly showing a circular reticle that suddenly flashed green.

"Now!" Nyla shouted to the quarian. Her biotic glow flared, and the surface of the krogan's barrier began to distort as the warping fields shifted space. A second later, a jet of ferrofluid fired from Ranid's Javelin, and into the weakened section created by Nyla.

The krogan gave a shrieking roar of pain. To his fortune, he had reacted and jerked back at Nyla's initial biotic attack, and so the sniper rifle's discharge only left a nasty gash on his torso. In a mix of anger and desperation, the krogan began to sweep his arms in wide, swift motions. The rapid bursts of biotic wrath forced Vaughn and his team off-balance as they were forced to dodge aside.

Vaughn rolled to his feet and ducked behind a tree trunk, finding himself next to Cass. "What the hell is he?" From cover, he fired another surge of bullets before ejecting his thermal clip.

"His name is Grall. He's a krogan battlemaster," Cass answered breathlessly. "Remarkably powerful biotic – even Isara avoids fighting him. She thinks he must be dosing himself with biotic-enhancing drugs, like red sand or Minagen X3. It does things to his mind. He does his killing bloody and up-close."

But despite Grall's rage and strength, even he seemed to know that he was outnumbered and had lost the element of surprise. As his biotic barriers finally began to waver, he chose to abandon them entirely. With another deafening roar, he focused his remaining power into a final shockwave, forcing Vaughn and his team back behind shelter. As Vaughn slid back behind the tree, he felt a sudden jarring thud resonate through the wood.

"Don't think this is over!" the krogan bellowed.

Vaughn darted out from behind the tree, ready to fire. The small forest clearing was a mess of furrowed earth and scarred, splintered tree trunks – but no enemy. Swirling tendrils of mist to the east indicated where the krogan had fled.

"I'm going after him!" Ezelle emerged, already emitting a biotic glow that would propel her forward at incredible charging speeds.

"Stand down," Vaughn ordered. "You'd get too far ahead of us, and it's not a good idea to face him alone." He glanced at the rest of his team as they appeared.

"We need to keep moving to safety," Nyla agreed. She gingerly touched a gash on her forehead, where a flying splinter of wood had left a trickle of cerulean blood.

"I've got somewhere we can go," Cass offered in a quiet voice. "Somewhere safe. Our camp is a bit west of here, and Fletcher won't dare to pursue that far. And I think Lady Isara will definitely want to meet you."


	9. Matriarch

CHAPTER NINE: Matriarch

The mist finally began to clear as the sun reached its zenith. Cass walked at the head of the group with a pistol in hand – a deliberate display to show that she was not a prisoner. She had insisted upon this, claiming that the matriarch's scouts silently patrolled this area of the forest, and they were likely to set an ambush if it seemed she was being coerced. And sure enough, after nearly half an hour of trekking through the trees, Ranid confirmed in a low voice that they were being followed.

"I see three heat signatures. They're keeping their distance for now, just... watching."

"We've had to be cautious to stay alive these last seven years," Cass explained. She then cupped her hands to her mouth and called out. "Everything's okay! It's safe to come out!"

Silence answered her call. Yet, after a full minute in which it seemed like nothing would happen, three figures finally emerged from the trees: a salarian, an asari, and a batarian. Like Cass, they wore muddy, ragged clothing and carried weapons that looked barely functional. They moved tentatively, but with footsteps that were amazingly silent for the given terrain.

"Cass! Thank the Goddess you're alive!" the asari woman exclaimed, relief overriding her caution. She wrapped Cass in a tight embrace, one which the human received awkwardly.

"Who's he?" The batarian eyed Vaughn with suspicion. He held his weapon half-raised, an obvious display to show that he wasn't afraid to start firing at the first hint of trouble.

"Major Daniel Vaughn and his team saved me from Fletcher's soldiers," Cass said as she extricated herself from the asari's arms. "They're from an expedition sent by the Council, and I'm taking them to see Lady Isara."

The salarian's eyes widened. "The Council? Truly?"

"The Council, huh?" The batarian spoke at nearly the same instant, but his tone was far more skeptical.

"Well, they look like strong allies to have." Bowing her head, the asari woman gave Vaughn and his team a warm smile. She introduced herself as Glissa T'Yari, while her batarian and salarian companions were respectively named Krieg and Sevil.

Vaughn nodded his acknowledgment, but he felt a pang of unease at being labeled an ally. Still, he knew there was little to be gained by correcting the asari and claiming that he was there as a neutral party.

The group was allowed to move onward, with the trio of newly-appeared exiles acting as an escort. As they walked, Ranid would sometimes shift his head, catching something in the surroundings on his visor.

"Looks like they're all around us," Kiros observed from the group's rear, speaking quietly so that only the other members of his team could hear.

Nyla shrugged. "Not much we can do about that. Let's hope that things stay friendly."

Vaughn walked in silence. The events of the past several hours kept playing over in his mind. He took hope in the fact that Colonel Fletcher still had a working Alliance frigate, for its parts could be used to save the Antietam. _"But what kind of Alliance officer could force a thousand people into disease and starvation?" _Vaughn wondered. And then he thought of the more difficult question: _"How do I work with such a man, especially when I've fought his people not once, but twice?" _Vaughn released a heavy, sighing breath. The situation on Elysium was dire, but he resolved himself to working with both Colonel Fletcher and Matriarch Isara. All he had to do was let them know that Council supply ships could be on Elysium within a week and that this desperate situation would be resolved.

"What are those?" Ezelle's surprised voice pulled Vaughn from his thoughts.

Vaughn looked up to see dark, bulky shapes scattered across the forest canopy. The light of the midday sun made the silhouettes difficult to make out, but among the leaves, Vaughn thought he could see what looked like the long barrel of a cannon.

"Are those... guns?" asked Nyla.

"Our attempt at anti-aircraft weaponry," Cass said. "When the shuttle I stole from Fletcher ran out of fuel, we tore it down for salvage. It's been years on Elysium since anybody here could afford to keep up kinetic barriers, so these – as well as others we've built – work pretty well as a deterrent. Fletcher has dozens of scavenged shuttles and speeder cars, all of which he could use to attack us."

"One of the first things we did was set up the guns around the perimeter of our home," Glissa chimed in. "It was all thanks to Cass' brilliance – she's a natural when it comes to these things."

Cass shook her head. "They're nothing fancy – they're just basically scaled-up versions of any rifle you could find here. We weren't able to scavenge up parts for anything more complex. And in truth, about half of those guns you see in the treetops are decoys that don't actually fire. The Reapers didn't leave us much."

"Still, that's quite clever." Nyla offered an admiring nod. "Being able to build a weapon from nothing… you'd be right at home in the Turian Engineering Corps."

Soon after, the group began passing small angular huts made of branches and moss. The air was sharp with the smell of cooking fires, and dozens of figures milled about between the trees. Most were asari or salarian, but there were a handful of batarians like the one who escorted Vaughn's team. All were filthy and many looked to be malnourished. When they began to notice Vaughn and his team, most displayed apprehension and suspicion.

"I'm a little surprised to see batarians here on Elysium," Vaughn said to Cass. "Especially after the Skyllian Blitz and all."

Overhearing this, Krieg spat into the dirt. "After Khar'shan fell, some of us could only make it as far as human space. But it was a mistake to come here. The humans stuck us in holding areas, and when the Reapers came, we were easy prey. It should've been no surprise that you then brought this misery upon us." He flung a hand, gesturing at the rough living conditions around him.

Vaughn bristled at the accusation. "I had no part in what happened here."

Krieg scoffed. "You Alliance are all the same…"

"Lady Isara should be this way," Cass interrupted before the argument could escalate. "I'll take them from here." She led Vaughn and his team away from their escorts, but not before the batarian shot Vaughn a final malevolent look.

Vaughn found that the batarian wasn't the only one who regarded him with hostility. People were staring at him. And as he walked past, angry whispers could be heard. They might not have known who he was, but evidently, the fact that he was a human and an outsider was enough.

Ranid also seemed to be uncomfortable. The fact that he was a quarian – the only quarian seen alive on Elysium for nearly seven years – made him an object of attention and curiosity. His head began to exhibit its familiar routine of darting about in short, jerking movements, as every sound around him seemed to instill a note of panic.

"You okay?" Vaughn asked, strolling up beside him.

"I-I… I don't like crowds. Alone is better. Small groups I can manage – maybe. Usually."

"You did well in combat earlier. I was impressed." Vaughn gave an encouraging smile, but felt utterly out of his element. He didn't know the first thing about quarian psychology.

"Oh. Thank you." Ranid's head bobbed up and down. "It seems odd to say it, but the distraction is good. Training takes over – muscle memory and strategic thinking – and it's easier."

"Well… we're not out of it just yet. Just because we're not being fired at, doesn't mean we're free from danger." Vaughn felt odd offering this as a reassurance, but he continued. "Hypothetically, if we were ambushed now, what would you pick as a good defensible location?"

Ranid looked around, yet upon seeing the crowds, his nervous ticks began to reemerge.

"Focus on the mission," Vaughn urged gently. "They're all just part of the terrain – simple variables to be taken into account."

"There." Ranid whispered. "He pointed to a cluster of three moss huts that were packed close together. A smoldering cooking fire sat in the small clearing between them.

"Good." Vaughn nodded. "Protection on three sides. I mean, I doubt twigs and moss will stop many bullets, but it would be harder for an enemy to get a clear shot. Does that help? Can you keep looking?"

"Maybe. I'll try."

Vaughn figured that would be the best he could hope for.

"Here we are," announced Cass from the head of the group.

Sitting in the middle of the encampment was a shuttle – or at least, what was left of one. The general frame was still intact, but it looked as the rearmost third of the craft was missing, replaced by a ragged cloth curtain. Sections of the hull had been stripped away, replaced by the same squares of moss that formed the small huts in the surrounding area. As Cass led the group closer, the curtain rippled and parted, revealing a tall asari woman as she stepped into the light.

Matriarch Isara's skin was a light blue, a shade so pale that it was nearly white. On any other person, it might have given them a sickly appearance, but as the light hit her, she seemed to radiate. She stood, graceful and proud, and fixed the newcomers with a look from her dark, expressive eyes. Her full lips curved upwards upon seeing Cass.

"Cassandra Liu." She clasped her hands together. "Child… we thought you were dead." Her feet were invisible from beneath a long black dress, and so when she moved, she seemed to glide over the forest floor.

Cass let herself be wrapped in an embrace. When she spoke, her words were meek and repentant. "Hedan and I took the team too far out. We got separated and ambushed, and… I'm the only one who made it. I'm s-"

"It is okay, child." Isara gently stroked Cass' hair. "It is not your fault. We are all just glad to see you home safe."

Cass mumbled something in reply that Vaughn was unable to hear.

"However," Isara continued in a stern yet good-natured voice. "I have told you that you take far too many risks. Your life is precious. Remember that." She turned toward Vaughn and his team. "We have… guests?"

Once Cass explained who Vaughn and his team was, Isara fell silent. For several moments, her face was expressionless, as if carved from ice. Several other onlookers also heard the explanation. About half were abuzz with hope at the thought of Council ships coming to their rescue. The other half grumbled skeptically, and Vaughn could feel their stares boring into the back of his skull.

"It seems that we have much to discuss." Isara turned toward the stripped-down shuttle and vanished inside, tacitly forcing Vaughn and his team to follow.

The interior of the shuttlecraft was more spacious than Vaughn had expected, for like the exterior, much had been stripped away. There was still a partition separating the cockpit – in which a small bed could be seen – but otherwise, there was only a simple wooden table with stools amidst the unadorned walls.

Isara took a seat at the head of the rough-hewn table. "So… assuming you are telling the truth, you all work for the Council. I am curious. Tell me – what does this postwar government look like?"

It seemed like an odd first question, but Vaughn humored her. "It's expanded a bit beyond what you might remember," the major began. "Aside from the batarians and the vorcha, each race has their own seat."

"So we went from four seats to... ten? Interesting." Isara steepled her fingers. "Now tell me: who truly runs the Council?"

Vaughn paused, taken aback by the question.

"Three voices may come to a consensus. Four? It becomes clumsy, but it can still work. However, ten? Too many voices, too many personal interests…" Isara spoke with the air of a patient school teacher. "Some voices are sure to rise above the others."

"It's split down the middle; there are two loose groups," Nyla chimed in. "The Systems Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy lead one. The Asari Republics and the Salarian Union head up the second."

Isara granted her a smile, as if the turian woman were a pupil delivering a correct answer. "The more things change, the more they stay the same… But tell me: if you had to choose, who dominates each alliance?"

Nyla glanced at her squadmates before answering. "Due to their location in the galactic spiral, the salarians suffered the lightest casualties against the Reapers. They have a stronger postwar economy than the asari. On the other side… the Systems Alliance has a bit more goodwill due to the Crucible Initiative – the weapon we developed to defeat the Reapers. And ultimately, if it came down to it, the Alliance controls a larger portion of their coalition, due to quarian and krogan support. Both the salarian and the human councilors are clever, and quite skilled at getting others to do what they want."

Vaughn chewed over the information. It made sense, and Nyla's insight was an example of why he had welcomed the turian woman onto his team. Her years spent around councilors at the Cathedral made her invaluable.

"I see." Isara pursed her lips but nodded. "Your ship, the…"

"CSV Antietam," Vaughn finished.

"I would very much like to see it. Perhaps I can accompany you back through the relay to meet with the Council."

"We might be able to arrange that eventually." Vaughn paused. He was hesitant to reveal the imperiled condition of the frigate – he didn't fully trust anybody on this planet, and so he didn't want to make his team's position appear weaker than it actually was.

Cass' head snapped toward the major as a sudden thought came to her. "How close were you to Elysium when you arrived?"

"Why do you-?" Vaughn recognized something in Cass' face, and realization dawned on him. He spoke in a low, accusing voice. "Was that you?"

"They're automatic defenses; **I **didn't do anything," Cass protested. She folded her arms as the rest of Vaughn's team caught on and stared at her.

Isara closed her eyes in pained resignation. "I think what Cassandra is trying to say is that she apologizes. However, seven years ago, none of us foresaw an outcome such as this." Isara continued in a soothing voice. "The guns designed by Cass are enough to discourage craft in the surrounding airspace, but Colonel Fletcher still has his frigate. We had to ensure that he couldn't attempt anything from orbit."

"Are all your Grissom Academy students taught to build weapons of destruction?" Kiros asked Vaughn sarcastically.

"Where do you even find the parts for something like that?" Nyla asked.

"We got lucky. During the war, one of the resistance groups scrounged up a bunch of parts meant for a new satellite grid. It was never brought into Illyria, and so we got our hands on it. I had to improvise to stretch things out." Cass looked Vaughn in the eye. "How bad is the damage?"

"_Secret's out now, I guess," _Vaughn thought. "Bad. The Antietam's activated its stealth systems, but she can't maneuver, and her orbit is decaying."

"We've seen that the minefield maintains a geosynchronous orbit above this section of Elysium. The Antietam would drift out of range of the mines eventually, but we don't have that kind of time," Ranid said in a quiet voice.

"If we're going to start ferrying people down to the planet, the mines need to be shut down," Nyla added. "Can you do that?"

Cass shook her head. "I was limited in what I could add to those drones. Nearly every scrap of technology we found was used for these defenses. The drones have limited communication with each other to coordinate attacks, but… I don't know how long it would take me to hack into their network and reprogram them. I certainly couldn't do it from down here." She rubbed the back of her neck as she pondered. "The fighting had just started then, and our biggest concern was putting a defense in place as quickly as possible. It took the last of our shuttle's fuel to deposit these drones in orbit."

"Fine," Vaughn grumbled. "But if we're lucky, there's a better solution. We could replace the damaged part of our engines and take the Antietam off its crash course. However, we would need an Alliance frigate."

Isara's dark eyes studied Vaughn thoughtfully. "I doubt he'll give you anything."

"I'm aware Colonel Fletcher and I got off on the wrong foot." Vaughn resisted the urge to shoot Kiros a pointed glance. "But he has to realize that the Council has the power to fix everything down here."

"**Not** everything. The blood of hundreds stain Fletcher's hands – nothing can change that," Isara declared in an icy tone. "By the grace of the Goddess, my two daughters survived the war, and so when the Reapers died, I had thought that all would be well. But that evil little man… he took them from me. A fever burned through my Aldira that first winter. His krogan dog butchered my Meldrith. Do not think that can be fixed." The matriarch's voice nearly became a snarl as her words crested with anger.

The anger of Isara's words, contrasted with her previously calm, almost regal demeanor caught Vaughn off-guard. "I'm… sorry."

Isara straightened. "I ask you, an officer of the Council Naval Forces: will Fletcher be brought to justice for his actions?"

"That's not for me to say. There will be an investigation, I'm sure."

"I despise noncommittal answers," Isara said bitterly.

"It is all I can give you." Vaughn met the matriarch's gaze with defiance. The way he saw it, his job was to keep everybody alive and let the higher-ups sort everything later. He may have rescued Cass and accepted Isara's hospitality, but he was not going to let himself be forced into choosing sides.

The tension of the moment passed after several heartbeats. "Yes… of course." Isara's expression softened, and she seemed to recompose herself. "What is your plan now?"

"I need to speak with Colonel Fletcher."

"And how will you do that?"

"The prisoner you're keeping could deliver a message." Ranid's somber voice interrupted the lull as Vaughn struggled to think of an idea. When all the quarian received was shocked silence, he continued. "Fifty meters south of this shuttle, an asari and a batarian were guarding the entrance to a hut constructed of a thicker wood used anywhere else. A single human male is lying on the ground inside."

Vaughn blinked in surprise. "How did you-"

"You told me to focus on my surroundings." Ranid bowed his head. "And my visor's imaging confirmed my suspicions."

"So you'll let us use the prisoner to contact Fletcher?" Ezelle asked the matriarch.

Isara considered the question for a few seconds before delivering a single, unenthusiastic nod. "As you wish." She touched Cass on the arm. "Have him brought here."

Minutes later, Cass reappeared, followed by a batarian who led a shabby-looking prisoner. The captive was still blinking, seemingly trying to readjust to the light. He was bare from the waist up, and parts of his chest showed a patchwork of bruises. The man didn't appear quite as malnourished as any of the exiles, yet he didn't seem well-fed by any means. Isara looked to Vaughn, gesturing to the captive.

Vaughn stood and came eye-to-eye to the prisoner. It was clear that the man had suffered several beatings, but he was still standing, which was better than what Vaughn had feared. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Marcus," the prisoner croaked in a tone that suggested he was dehydrated. He stared at Vaughn, looking unsure if the major was actually real.

Vaughn reached to his belt for his canteen. He handed it to Marcus, and then watched as the prisoner gulped eagerly. "My name is Major Daniel Vaughn of the Council Naval Forces. We're sending you back to Colonel Fletcher and I want you to deliver a message. Can you do that?"

"Y-Yes." Relief washed across the man's face. "Thank you. You have no idea what they would've done to me."

Vaughn raised an eyebrow.

"Fletcher doesn't keep prisoners. Neither do we… for long," the batarian guard grumbled.

"We can barely feed ourselves. If we can't use them for a prisoner exchange, we have no use for them." Cass shook her head. "Just give him the message and send him off."

Vaughn bit back his distaste and pulled out a spare communicator which he handed to Marcus. "Tell him who I am and that the two of us need to meet. The killing stops now." He glanced at Isara and Cass as he said the final sentence.

"Assemble a team and take him halfway to Illyria," Isara instructed the batarian guard. "He'll find his own way back to Fletcher from there."

"Ezelle." Vaughn motioned to his asari squad member. He didn't think the matriarch would go back on her word regarding the prisoner release, but he was unwilling to risk it. "Accompany them. For extra protection, of course."

"Of course," Isara echoed dryly.

"You can count on me." Ezelle sounded distracted; she looked slightly disturbed by the news of prisoner executions and the sight of Marcus' bruises. As she walked past, Vaughn reflected on how young the asari commando was, despite her incredible talent.

Vaughn turned to Cass. "I have a shuttle holding position in the air south of here. I'll need your help with the AA guns to let them in."

* * *

The shuttle's black and silver hull was a welcome sight to Vaughn, even as it kicked up clouds of dirt that stung his face. The landing gear descended and the stabilizers died off, leaving only a fading whine as the shuttle systems powered down.

"Five hours," Alexei grumbled as he stepped from the craft. "Five goddamn hours you had us flying around without a goddamn status update."

"Worried for my well-being?" Vaughn asked sarcastically.

"Like hell." Alexei looked up at the darkening sky, and then to the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered at the fringes of Isara's camp. "I'm guessing there's a story here?"

"Come on." Vaughn led Alexei away, taking him on a route that circled the camp's perimeter.

Both men were silent for a long while after Vaughn told the story of what had happened on Elysium. They walked, trying not to stumble over the tree roots that were barely visible in the flickering firelight of the camp.

Alexei was the first to speak following the silence. "So… what's the play? Who are we picking here?"

"I told you, we're a neutral party."

"And I told you to sort out your loyalties while you can. I know you don't like what Fletcher has done here, but he has the key to saving the lives of your crew. It won't be easy… It won't help things that you've killed some of his people."

"Kiros forced my hand on that." Vaughn sighed. "I'm beginning to wonder if Councilor Osule sent him to try and sabotage me."

Alexei shrugged. "Maybe. But let's be honest here. From the sound of it, he didn't do anything you wouldn't have done yourself. I know you Vaughn. An unarmed teenager about to be gunned down? You'd never let that stand. Who knows, maybe Kiros felt the same way – maybe the two of you two are more alike than you think. I doubt it, because he seems like a conniving little bastard, but you never know."

"_Things are complicated, that's for damn sure," _Vaughn mused to himself. _"Maybe getting involved was a bad idea. But if Alexei's right about me, that's a mistake I would've made anyway, even without Kiros." _Vaughn gritted his teeth – he didn't like the thought of that.

"So, what do you think? About what Fletcher did?" asked Vaughn.

"Honestly? I understand his decision." Alexei held up his hands in a placating gesture, heading off a protest from Vaughn. "It seems clear that there had to be a sacrifice in order to keep the greater number alive and fed. So why not save your own kind? It gives you a better chance of rebuilding society if you think that you're going to be permanently isolated."

A sudden chirping noise came from Vaughn's communicator. He activated his omni-tool, and a wash of orange light highlighted his grim visage. Vaughn had been expecting this call, and wasn't sure whether it would be pleasant.

"Major Daniel Vaughn?" A thin, reedy voice with a British accent sounded. "I am Colonel Elias Fletcher of the Systems Alliance. I think you have some explaining to do."


	10. No Man's Land

Author's Note: Just wanted to say thanks to all those who have followed and favorited, and especially those who have left nice reviews! Also, happy new year to all! :)

* * *

CHAPTER TEN: No Man's Land

On any other day, the woodland landscape might have been the very image of serenity. The last vestiges of mist blanketed the forest floor, and golden rays of sunlight kissed the earth through slight gaps in the verdant canopy. Small squirrel-like creatures scampered over branches while a pair of unseen birds whistled softly somewhere above. And yet, Vaughn pushed the sweet melody from his mind to instead check down the sights of his rifle, seeing how many more potential enemies had arrived.

"I am tracking three more since you last asked," Ranid said, not needing to be prompted.

"That's about what – twenty? And those are just the ones we can see," lamented Vaughn.

The pair stood at the forest's edge, where a wide paved area sat before them. The area was about the size of two football fields back on Earth, with a half-constructed four-story building standing in its center. Its general structure was in place, but the walls had been unfinished, and the window panes had never been installed. It was a hollow shell of a building, and that fact was probably the reason why the Reapers hadn't leveled it. A single rusted signpost sat in front, displaying the barely legible logo of 'Vilmarc Stellar Imports'.

On the opposite side of the paved area, Vaughn could see shapes moving in the far tree line. Ranid had a much easier time managing these shapes, for his visor was able to differentiate and track the heat signatures.

Vaughn activated the comm line that he shared with the rest of his squad. "Report in."

"Nothing suspicious on our end." Ezelle was the first to respond from her position with Kiros somewhere to the north.

"All clear here to the south." Nyla's distinct turian voice followed soon after. "Although, I do think Corporal Volkov here is getting a little bored."

"I don't enjoy wasting time," Alexei's voice cut in. "We're just sitting and watching, doing nothing."

"It's what Colonel Fletcher insisted upon," Vaughn said tiredly. "He refused to meet until the morning's mist cleared – probably because he's just as worried about being ambushed as we are."

"I get that. But this is all time the Antietam can't afford to waste."

Vaughn didn't respond, but he agreed with Alexei. The night before, he had gone back and forth with Fletcher for the better part of an hour, and he had just barely convinced the colonel to meet outside of Illyria. The concessions were that neither Matriarch Isara nor any of her people were allowed within a kilometer of the meeting place and that Vaughn would have to arrive first on the rooftop of this abandoned building.

"_Once I step out there, I'll be at Fletcher's mercy," _Vaughn thought to himself. _"If this doesn't work out, I'm probably not making it out of there alive." _Still, Vaughn knew it was safer than meeting Fletcher in Illyria, and the forest location did give his team an opportunity to remain hidden and in position.

Vaughn also had to admit that the building made for a decently neutral location. The wide, paved areas made unseen approach impossible, and the structure's height would make it difficult for either party on the ground to take a shot. However, in this, Vaughn saw an advantage. For Vaughn had Ranid – an extremely skilled sniper, and one with access to some of the most advanced targeting technology in the galaxy.

"It's time," Vaughn announced over the comm channel. He then turned to Ranid. "Keep your eyes on me during the meeting. Do you remember the signal?"

"If you tap the back of your neck twice... then I am to open fire."

"Only to disable, not to kill."

"Not to kill," Ranid agreed.

Vaughn then began to strip away his weapons – another condition Fletcher had demanded. He placed them by his quarian comrade and then, with a deep breath, he stepped out from among the trees.

To Vaughn's relief, there was no immediate hail of gunfire. Still, as Vaughn walked toward the dilapidated structure, there was the definite sensation of being watched. He had no doubt that dozens of weapons were being trained on him, and although he had shields, the large paved area made for a merciless killing ground. The walk to the building's entrance felt like an eternity, but ultimately proved uneventful. As he came to the doorway – which was unsurprisingly missing a door – Vaughn gave a final glance at the woodland surroundings before stepping inside.

As Vaughn climbed the stairs and traversed the floors, his muscles tensed in anticipation of an ambush. However, the interior of the building was just as shabby and bare as the exterior and populated only by shadows. Stepping onto the roof, Vaughn could see that he had a clear view to the east, where a narrow road snaked toward the remains of Illyria. Other than that, there were trees as far as the eye could see and snow-tipped mountains to the north. Clear skies lingered above – it really was a gorgeous day – but as he looked up, Vaughn couldn't help but picture the wounded Antietam falling to its doom.

Vaughn pinged the frigate for what must have been the tenth time that day, yet received only a distorted feedback. The frigate's short-range comm relay was evidently still down. He was anxious to get an update from Captain Harper, but he knew that she must have her hands full in trying to get systems back online. Vaughn began to pace; the feeling of powerlessness was grating.

"Contact." Ranid's voice came through to Vaughn's earpiece. "Three speeder cars en route to the building, approaching via the highway."

"I see them."

As the three speeder cars reached the wide paved area, they fell into formation, with two cars flanking either side of the third, larger car. Vaughn felt a sudden pang of apprehension at seeing three cars, but he quickly realized that if Fletcher intended to storm the building in force, he could've done so already. Instead, the three cars came to a stop in front of the building. And although Vaughn wasn't able to see it from his position, Ranid confirmed over the comm that a single figure had exited the middle vehicle and proceeded inside.

Vaughn's first indication of Colonel Elias Fletcher was the sound of his footsteps as they echoed from the rooftop stairwell. The man seemed to pause every few steps, as if stopping to listen for trouble. When he finally ascended into the midday sun, Fletcher squinted and studied the rooftop carefully. Above his narrowed gaze was a shock of wild silver curls that gave him an almost tumbleweed-like appearance. Though it was somewhat unkempt, his hair was undeniably clean. Indeed, his whole appearance gave the impression of a man who tried to retain some semblance of tidiness. His formal blue-and-gold Systems Alliance uniform was well-worn and faded, but every tear and hole had been mended or patched. His boots were not new by any stretch of the imagination, and yet it was clear that effort had been made to polish them.

"Major Vaughn." Fletcher was the first to speak. He eyed the Spectre insignia on Vaughn's chest piece and gave a surprisingly amicable smile. "I'm pleased to finally meet you in person."

"Good of you to finally show up, colonel," Vaughn replied in a toneless voice.

Fletcher arched an eyebrow. "Now, if anybody here has a right to be upset, surely it's me. Remind me, how many of my men did you kill?"

"You'll have to excuse me for not letting them murder a defenseless teenage girl."

"Ahhh…" Fletcher rolled his eyes. "But Cassandra Liu is not a 'defenseless girl' is she? You must have figured that out by now." When Vaughn didn't answer, he pressed on. "She's devilishly clever, that one. Such raw intelligence and creativity! She was vital to so many engineering projects in Illyria, especially our small fusion generator. But after everything we gave her, she betrayed us. I'd almost admire her bravery in stealing a shuttle, if it weren't for the fact that she had to kill one of my guards guard to do so. Did she tell you that?" Fletcher shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Killing a man at the tender age of twelve – can you imagine?"

Vaughn kept his face blank. "Do you **really** want to get into a discussion of who's guilty here on Elysium?"

"I'm sure you were given a very touching story about a heartless colonel and the hundreds he condemned to starvation," Fletcher said. His gaze transformed into an intense stare. "Do you think that was an easy decision? Do you think there were **any **good choices in such an impossible situation? There wasn't enough to keep everybody fed and housed. And my duty as an officer of the Systems Alliance is to serve the people of Earth. Surely you remember that? The Council may have given you a major's commission and dressed you up in Spectre's armor, but surely you remember your duty."

"I remember being taught to serve with honor," Vaughn retorted. "And if you're really so dedicated to humanity, how does that explain the krogan battlemaster?"

Fletcher briefly closed his eyes at the mention of Grall. "Grall... he served the resistance well during the Reaper occupation," Fletcher said softly. "And there are some men you simply can't afford to have as an enemy."

"He has a goddamn battleaxe," Vaughn persisted. "A man like that wants nothing more than to kill."

"He keeps my people safe," Fletcher corrected in a firmer tone. "You want to speak of bloodthirst? What about your matriarch? She wants to make sure we starve right along with her. Not only does she ambush our foraging parties, but look at what she's done to the surrounding airspace."

"Those look like defenses to me. Considering your aerial firepower, can you blame her for wanting to protect herself?"

Fletcher scoffed. "The AA guns? Fine. But the orbital drones? If she thinks I'd try a bombardment when our two camps are so close together, then she's more insane than I thought. No… spite is her motivation. Our fusion generator requires helium-3, and so we must make regular trips to the fourth planet in this system. To get around her little minefield, I'm forced to take a significant detour, expending fuel and burning up element zero I can't replace. My people need that generator, Major Vaughn. It keeps them warm in winter, and it keeps the food processors running. It keeps civilians alive." The colonel shook his head and threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's utter foolishness on her part – the less food my processors can produce, the more I need to send people into her forest."

"Why do you even need to send the foraging parties west, toward Isara?" asked Vaughn. "Can't you two find some way to leave each other alone?"

"I'd gladly send my men elsewhere, but…" Fletcher gestured at the trees surrounding them. "This is the Moirai Basin. The lakes attract more of the wildlife, and as a result, more of the food supply. It's why Isara settled there, and it's why I must send my people there. I have thousands of people to feed."

"And then the inevitable happens," Vaughn said dryly.

"I can understand their anger, Major Vaughn. But I will not abide the death of my people. I will not stand for her butchery!" As he spoke, Fletcher's words rose in a crescendo of anger, peaking with a trembling fury that showed in his widened eyes.

Vaughn met his gaze. "Butchery?"

"Oh?" Fletcher's voice took on a mocking edge. "So you don't know what she does to any of my people she takes prisoner?"

"Neither of you keep prisoners, I know that much."

"But I do not hang their corpses from trees for their loves ones to find!" Fletcher spluttered. "The wounds… they aren't always so pretty."

Vaughn felt his stomach twist with revulsion. He wasn't sure whether to believe it. _"And yet, those soldiers in the clearing were so worried about being captured alive. Not to mention the soldier we freed from Isara's camp..." _Vaughn frowned. "I don't-" he began.

"Do you know why I was still on Elysium when the Reapers arrived?" Fletcher interrupted in a tone that was surprisingly soft given his previous rage. "My wife, Diana, lived here. Admiral Hackett knew this, and he allowed me to be part of the evacuation flotilla. We all knew there wasn't the time to get everybody out safely – we were just meant to save as many as we could. But I was lucky. I found my wife… and do you know what she said? That Elysium was her home and that she was going to fight for it." The colonel gave a harsh chuckle. "Sometimes I think she should have been the soldier, and not me. Diana was never one to shy away from danger."

"So she convinced you to stay."

"I regret needing to disobey Admiral Hackett's orders, but in the end, there was nothing that could be done to stop me. I gave my crew the option to retreat through the relay on the other ships, and a few did. But you'd be surprised how many stayed behind with me. A stalwart ship and a loyal crew, Major Vaughn – there's nothing like it…"

"So what happened to your wife?" Vaughn shifted uncomfortably.

"We survived the Reapers, she and I. And she was so angry when I drove Isara and her people out of Illyria. But even she understood after a time, I think, when the rations ran low. I had taught her how to use a rifle and so she insisted on being in one of the first hunting parties to help feed us." Tears began to gather at the corners of Fletcher's eyes as he turned to stare at the forest. "We found Diana a week later, in one of the trees east of here. She did not die well, Major Vaughn. Not well at all."

Vaughn watched as the first tears dripped down Fletcher's face. "I'm sorry for what you and everybody else here have had to endure. But it's over now. The starvation, the killing… all of it ends."

"Just like that?" Fletcher gave Vaughn a tired look. "And who are you to promise this?"

"I am an officer of the Council Naval Forces with Spectre authority. Before long, I will have Council ships here to fully repair your relay and bring in supplies for everyone."

"Yes, you told me this last night." Fletcher waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Relay core stability and self-repair and all that. But why haven't you done so already? Why are you alone down here with only five soldiers to support you?"

Vaughn was silent, his mouth forming a grim line.

Fletcher's own lips twitched into a grin. "I know the skies above Elysium all too well, and their dangers. Let me guess: you dropped out of FTL, and before you knew it, Cass' little pets were on you. And yet, you're still alive, so whoever was commanding your ship must have been very good. But those little mechanical bastards pack a punch." Fletcher's grin faded as Vaughn refused to answer. He started to speak more coldly. "Keep in mind that I could easily go up and check for myself. In fact, being the only man in possession of a space-faring craft puts me in a unique position to help you. Do you need my help, Major Vaughn?" His words dripped with sarcasm.

Vaughn scowled. He needed Fletcher's cooperation, and there was no time to try and get the Antietam's parts through indirect means. "The drive core's power couplings were irreparably damaged. They need to be replaced or my ship crashes," Vaughn admitted through gritted teeth. But then, straightening his back, Vaughn decided to try a different tactic. "Yes, colonel, you **are** in a unique position. You of all people here know what it's like to have a ship and a crew – to have men and women who depend on you. And if you still see yourself as an officer of the Systems Alliance, you'll help me save them."

"I could give you my ship's power couplings," Fletcher conceded. "But I would need something in return."

Vaughn struggled to think of what he could offer Fletcher, but only one thing came to mind. He loathed the thought of it. _"There are over 60 people on the Antietam. If this is the price I have to pay to prevent more death..."_

"I'll offer you protection from the impending investigation." Vaughn swallowed hard before continuing. "I'll tell the Council and Alliance that you cooperated and that extreme circumstances forced your hand these last seven years."

However, Fletcher merely chuckled at this. "An interesting offer. But… a promise that may or may not be kept? I think there is something more tangible you can offer me. Up front."

Vaughn hid his surprise. "You know, some degree of trust is needed here if we're going to make a deal," he said.

"You seem a man of your word, Major Vaughn. But it's the Council I don't trust. After all, you're just a Spectre."

"**Just **a Spectre?" Vaughn asked.

"As a Spectre, you are not the voice of the Council – you are not even the right hand. You are… the knife hidden in the boot. The pistol secreted away up the sleeve. You do the ugly things that must be done to keep the peace and thus give the Council a comfortable sense of plausible deniability. You do not grant clemency… after all, there's a reason why they recruit Spectres from soldiers, and not diplomats."

Vaughn folded his arms. "So then what do I have to give you?"

"There is one thing I want above all else," Fletcher said in a taut voice. "I would gladly spend the rest of my life in a cell if it meant knowing I had justice. You will give me Matriarch Isara."

"You can't be serious!" Vaughn's eyes widened in surprise.

"You do not have to kill her yourself," Fletcher soothed. "In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't. Arrange for her to visit some secluded part of her territory, and give me advance notice. Nobody will know your involvement. I **should **ask you for the girl's life as well, but I'm willing to let Cass go."

"You think I would offer up somebody's life like that?" Vaughn asked in disgust. "She may not be completely innocent here, but there's no need for this! Dammit, nobody else has to die!"

"You're a Spectre, Major Vaughn," Fletcher explained. "You are expected to do the despicable things that keep everybody else safe. One quiet death – that's all."

Vaughn just shook his head. He found himself rubbing the back of his neck, and for a moment, he was tempted. "_Just two taps on the back of my neck, and Fletcher goes down."_ His mind raced through possible strategies and contingencies, daring to dream that such a wild hostage-taking attempt would succeed. But it would be unlikely, and it would require the involvement of his team. He couldn't risk their lives on such an insane gamble.

After several moments of studying Vaughn intently, Fletcher broke the silence. "You don't have to decide now. I'll send you a message this time tomorrow, and we can talk some more then. Perhaps try and get a good night's sleep to clear your mind?" Fletcher's expression showed the ghost of a smirk.

Vaughn nodded once in a barely perceptible movement of his head. He watched Fletcher leave, and once alone on the rooftop, he cursed. Vaughn was furious, mostly at Fletcher, but also at himself. Because though he hated to admit it, he was tempted.

* * *

"It's despicable," Ezelle exclaimed. "It's not even worth discussing!"

"Don't be naïve; of course it's worth discussing," Alexei grumbled. "Do you know how many lives are aboard the Antietam?"

"There are better options. There have to be!" the asari commando persisted.

"Better options?" Kiros asked sardonically. "There are two **other **options, but neither is better. Either we storm Illyria and take Fletcher's frigate by force, or we find another bargaining chip. The former is suicide, and the latter is nonexistent."

"Hypothetically, if we were to go through with it, it'd be tricky," Nyla warned. "The exiles look up to Lady Isara – they revere her. From what we've seen, she doesn't stray far from the center of the camp. She always has people close by."

Ezelle nodded fervently. "Of course they look to her for leadership. Matriarchs are the wisest, the best of my people."

"Sounds like Fletcher would have some stories to contradict that," countered Alexei.

"You trust what he says? After what he's done? Now who's being naïve?" Ezelle scoffed.

"Everybody just calm down," Vaughn intervened. "We're exploring all options here, and it won't help if this turns into one big, heated argument." He paused to take a deep breath. "Nobody likes the idea of setting up Lady Isara for an ambush. It's clearly a last resort, so let's talk about our other options."

After the meeting with Fletcher, Vaughn and his team had met up and trekked another half-kilometer before stopping. They were still some distance from Matriarch Isara's camp, but this was a discussion Vaughn couldn't have anywhere near her.

"Well, considering how little we have, there's no other bargaining chip," Kiros stated in a bored tone that revealed what he thought of the discussion. Nobody contradicted him. "As for an assault, we know the population of Illyria is over four thousand. Given the dire situation on Elysium these last seven years, I'd expect most of that four thousand would fight to defend their home. Like I said, it's suicide."

"To be fair, we **did **have worse odds against the Reapers," Nyla said with a hint of levity.

"I don't know about you, but I still lost plenty of friends to those terrible odds," Alexei muttered.

"We do have several tactical advantages," Ezelle offered. "We're much better armed than the average soldier of Fletcher's. Most of them probably don't have kinetic barriers. Plus, our shuttle makes us extremely mobile. We get in and out before they can put up a solid defense."

"Do we even know where Fletcher's frigate is being kept?" asked Alexei.

"We only took a brief scan of Illyria with the shuttle, but we were still far away." Vaughn activated a small holographic 3D map from his omni-tool. "The resolution isn't great, but that little block in the city's center looks like it could be a Yorktown-class frigate."

Alexei grunted. "Looks like another collapsed building to me."

"The shuttle would take far too much weapons fire getting us out of there," Kiros said, shaking his head.

"Maybe Lady Isara would help us in the assault?" Ezelle suggested.

"Doubt it," Nyla countered. "She has no real reason to care about saving the Antietam. So to her, it wouldn't be worth it to risk the lives of her people."

"So where are you on this?" Kiros asked the turian woman. "I know Ezelle is against the ambush, and Alexei is probably for it. Surely you're sensible enough to see it's our best option."

"For now it might seem like our best option," Nyla admitted with a sigh. "But that doesn't make it a good option. We have no reason to trust Fletcher, and I don't know if we should. And if we go through with it, we risk losing the one person that might be our ally in all this. I'm a 'no' on this one."

"Ranid?" Vaughn asked, turning to the quarian. "You've been silent during all this. Do you have any thoughts?"

Ranid looked up in sudden surprise at being pulled into the spotlight. "I… don't know."

"That's real helpful," Kiros said sarcastically.

"It is… a difficult decision." Ranid fumbled over the words. "A-Are we voting on this?"

"No," Vaughn answered. "I value all of your input, but this is my decision. My responsibility. Let's head back now. We have time to think on it, at least."

* * *

Vaughn wasn't surprised that sleep eluded him. It didn't help that the moss-covered mats had a pungent odor and provided almost no cushioning. His mind was racing, and he couldn't stop obsessing over the decision that must be made. As he lay wide awake, he remembered that Kiros and Nyla were taking first watch with the rest of Isara's scouts in the forest, and he considered relieving one of them. _"Might as well make myself useful," _he thought.

A soft chime from Vaughn's omni-tool stirred him from his contemplation. To his surprise and relief, the message came from the Antietam.

"I considered not calling at this hour, but I assume you're not sleeping anyway. After all, you must be hard at work trying to save my ship, right?" Even Captain Harper's bitter tone was a welcome sound to Vaughn's ears.

"Glad to hear from you, captain." Vaughn stood and made his way to his shuttlecraft, figuring it to be the best place to gain some privacy. He found the sandy-haired shuttle pilot inside, snoring softly from her seat in the cockpit. _"Why didn't I think of that?"_ Vaughn extended the partition to let the woman sleep in peace.

"Everybody's working longer shifts to bring systems back online," said Harper. "Keeping them busy helps with morale. This comm node is still a bit shaky, so I can't guarantee it'll stay up all night. Any progress on your end?"

Vaughn told Harper everything that had happened on Elysium so far, his tale culminating in Fletcher's offer. He waited for a response, but Harper was quiet for a long while.

"Did you ask Isara if Fletcher's claims are true?" Harper asked.

"Isara claims not to torture people, but she said that hanging corpses was her way of returning the dead. She implied that if it also acts as a psychological deterrent, then she'll take any advantage she can get. I don't know what to think of that," Vaughn said.

Harper sighed. "So what are you going to do?"

"Still working that one out," Vaughn confessed. "Best I can think of is letting Isara in on the ambush, and trying to use the hand-off as some kind of 'Trojan Horse'-type situation."

"Fletcher sounds like he's too careful for that," Harper said.

"You have any better ideas?"

Harper paused. "Your meeting with Colonel Fletcher – how many men did he bring in total?"

"Somewhere between twenty and thirty, I think."

"The ones he could trust the most, no doubt." There was the sound of Harper pouring a drink and taking a sip. "But what about the rest of them?"

Vaughn shrugged – a reflexive gesture even though he knew Harper couldn't see him. "Can't say that I've met them."

"Well this is just a guess," Harper began. "But I'm willing to bet that not everybody has such a personal need for vengeance. The ones who have lost somebody to Matriarch Isara, sure, but the rest? They've had to endure seven years of hell, and the colonel is prolonging that. Hell, his defiance against a Council Spectre could be actively hurting them in the long run."

Vaughn blinked in surprise. "That's… actually very insightful. It wouldn't be easy to bypass Fletcher and appeal to the people of Illyria, but it's certainly something to think about."

"You always need to read the pulse of the people under your command," Harper instructed. "Works for me, anyway. I haven't had a single mutiny yet."

Vaughn cracked a smile. "You know captain, that almost sounded like a joke."

Suddenly, there was a boom, followed by the staccato of distant gunfire. Shocked cries sounded from the surrounding huts and campfires. Vaughn jumped to his feet.

"What the hell was that?" Harper demanded, hearing the chaos.

"He told me to get a 'good night's sleep'. Bastard couldn't help himself!" Vaughn hissed as he remembered Fletcher's final, goading words.

"What?"

"There's trouble. I'll contact you when I can." Hastily closing the channel, Vaughn raced to the shuttle's armory where his weapons were stored. He pulled out his assault rifle, and in a fluid, practiced motion loaded the ammo block and thermal clip. It was odd, but Vaughn almost felt like laughing – for all his agonizing over what to do, it seemed the decision was made for him. They were under attack, for Fletcher was making his move.


	11. Catching Fire

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Catching Fire

Major Daniel Vaughn burst from the shuttlecraft and into the night's chaos. All around him, people were scrambling from their moss huts, calling out in panic, and running to find loved ones. A few began to stoke campfires and light torches, and so within minutes, a lurid firelight illuminated the shadows.

"The whole camp is likely to burn down in all this," Vaughn murmured to himself with a grimace. He kept a firm grip on his assault rifle, but kept it lowered. The sounds of gunfire were still distant.

"What's going on? Are we under attack?" The sandy-haired shuttle pilot stumbled from the craft, her hair still matted from where she had been sleeping in the cockpit. She was still trying to blink away the blurriness from her vision.

"It sounds like the guards on picket duty have just been attacked." But before Vaughn could say more, there was a chorus of deep booms, followed by the rattling of falling branches and leaves. It took him a moment to realize that the AA guns were firing, a realization that was confirmed when three loud crashes sounded from ground-level through the trees.

"Sounds like the defense cannons are doing their job," the shuttle pilot observed, relief showing on her face.

However, Vaughn frowned at this new cacophony. _"An aerial attack? But the ground assault hasn't penetrated far enough to neutralize the AA guns. He would need to-"_

There came the sudden eruption of multiple automatic weapons firing from above. Vaughn could see explosions across the treetops as several AA guns burst into flame, alighting parts of the forest canopy. Screams pierced the night as streams of bullets whipped through leaves to carve bloody lines through the camp.

"_...He would need to overwhelm the guns with numbers. Dammit, he's pushing fast!" _Vaughn pulled at the shuttle pilot's arm. "Get to cover!" he shouted as the engines of speeder cars and shuttlecraft roared overhead. Moments after he skidded back into the shuttle, a rapid succession of dull thuds sounded against the ship's roof.

"Vaughn!" Nyla's strained voice called out through the open comm channel. "Do you read me?"

Holstering the rifle onto his back, Vaughn sat and toggled on his communicator. "Nyla? Where are you?"

"About two kilometers east of the camp. We took some heavy fire and we're getting pushed back!" The sound of her voice was interrupted by a burst of weapons fire. "I think the line's already broken in a few places. Expect enemy infantry soon!"

Vaughn swore as another volley ricocheted above him. "Pull back here as soon as you can. We need to regroup."

"I don't think it'll be that simple," Nyla said with a humorless chuckle. "I must've been a bit rusty after seven years… I managed to get hit in the leg."

Vaughn grimaced. "How bad is it?"

"Nothing life-threatening, I think. Medi-gel has already stopped the bleeding, but I'm not exactly mobile. Luckily, things aren't as bad here – I think the attack's main thrust is somewhere north of me."

"We'll come get you," Vaughn promised.

"Just don't take any stupid risks on my behalf," Nyla said after a short pause. "But we have another problem. I haven't been able to reach Kiros since the shooting started."

"Where was he standing watch?"

"North of here. Right where the fighting's been the worst."

Vaughn cursed. "Just sit tight and keep your head down. We'll come get you and decide what to do from there. But first, I need to get the rest of the team and check in with Lady Isara – we need to know what her plans are now."

"Thanks, Vaughn." Nyla took a deep breath, audible through the communicator. "Whatever you decide to do, just be quick. It won't be long before you have unwanted company."

Vaughn was silent for a few moments after the channel closed. It was all going wrong. He had failed to anticipate an enemy, and he was missing nearly half his team. His fists clenched, knuckles white.

"I-I think the firing has stopped. From the enemy shuttles, I mean," the pilot several meters away offered meekly.

Vaughn snapped back to reality, embarrassed that he had forgotten about the pilot. He cleared his throat. "It looked like their objective was to neutralize the AA guns and cause panic. They might be attacking other parts of the perimeter now. It's a hell of a thing, though... I mean, the darkness of night will help him, but by attacking head-on like this, Fletcher's throwing a good portion of his men into a meat grinder." He shook his head before offering the pilot an apologetic look. "Sorry, uh… I haven't quite gotten the chance to remember everybody's name yet..."

"Private Joyce." The pilot gave a timid smile. "Sir."

Vaughn was glad to see that Joyce appeared mostly unshaken by the night's events. Yet, as she watched him, there was a clear look of concern on her face. Pushing himself to his feet, he straightened. Vaughn began to recall what he had said to Amari at the small café back in New Albany. He was the leader of this expedition, and above all, his people needed to see that he had no doubts about what needed to be done.

"Right. First things first: I'm gathering the rest of the team. When I leave, begin pre-flight checks but seal the shuttle up tight. This craft is one of our few advantages down here, and nobody gets use of it without my permission."

Joyce nodded, her eyes reflecting new determination.

"Be vigilant." Vaughn then strode from the shuttle, hearing the hiss of hydraulics and the thuds of the locking mechanism behind him. The night air reeked of smoke. His first thought was to find Alexei, and so he started in the direction of where his friend had set up camp. He was about to slip on his armor's helmet when a shout made him halt.

"You!" A booming voice thundered from behind Vaughn.

The major began to turn, but before he could get a clear look at who has spoken, a heavy fist struck him across the face. Vaughn stumbled back a step. Instantly he went into a defensive stance, bringing his arms up to block the strike that followed.

"What the hell?" Vaughn spat, swiping at a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He looked up to see Krieg, the batarian scout whom he had argued with on the previous day.

"You did this!" the batarian roared. "You brought this upon us!"

Vaughn could see that the Krieg was half-dressed, likely pulled from slumber like the rest of the camp. The major counted himself lucky that the alien hadn't had time to find a weapon.

"Don't be stupid," Vaughn barked. "We don't have time for this! This very second, your scouts out there are getting crushed!"

"Time? This won't take long," Krieg snarled. He went into a sudden lunge with a speed that surprised Vaughn, and the two went tumbling to the ground. As the batarian came up on top, he struck again at Vaughn's face, for it was the only part of the human's body not protected by dense plating.

After two quick blows that snapped his head back into the dirt, Vaughn snatched at the holster at his waist. In his anger, his first instinct was to bury the pistol's muzzle in Krieg's chest and pull the trigger. But he tempered his rage. Instead, he swung the pistol in a wide arc so that the hard point of the weapon's handle cracked into the batarian's skull. Krieg recoiled from the sudden pain, and his attacks faltered. Pushing his assailant off, Vaughn started back to his feet.

However, before he could rise beyond a sitting position, there was a sudden sharp pain in his hand. A boot had savagely kicked the pistol from his grip. Hands clawed at Vaughn from behind, pulling the chain of his dog tags tight and digging the fine metal links into his neck. The major's feet kicked at the dirt, struggling to find purchase so he could push off from the ground and knock his attacker off-balance. But he was in an awkward position, and his feet only slipped in the loose soil. Vaughn's lungs burned as he gasped and croaked for breath that would not come.

"Hey." The single word sounded, calm yet dangerous and in a voice familiar to Vaughn. A split second later, there was a sudden cracking noise, followed by a yelp of pain. The chain strangling the life from Vaughn went slack. As Vaughn slumped back to the ground coughing, he could see Alexei. The ex-Cerberus man's face was a rigor of grim hatred.

The batarian who had been trying to strangle Vaughn staggered back several paces, a hand raised to where he had been struck. Then the alien surged forward, snarling his anger. Yet the instant his foe came within range, Alexei took advantage of his longer reach, sidestepping and brutally swinging his fist up into the batarian's stomach. The sound made Vaughn wince as the alien crumpled and wheezed into the dirt.

"You all right?" Alexei asked, pulling Vaughn to his feet.

"Yeah," Vaughn replied, picking up his fallen pistol. He noticed that his dog tags had also fallen to the ground, the chain's clasp broken. He slipped the tags into his pocket. "Got caught off-guard. Never saw the second one coming up behind me."

Alexei's expression hardened as he swiveled his head to look around. "Well... this isn't good."

A crowd had begun to gather around the short-lived brawl. Although the two batarians were no longer a threat, a sea of unfriendly faces stared at the two humans. A few had weapons – only half-raised, but Vaughn could tell that it wouldn't take much provocation for them to fire.

Vaughn holstered his pistol, which seemed the obvious first step in lowering tensions. "Do you hear that?" he asked the crowd, pointing to the east. "That's the sound of Fletcher's soldiers pushing an all-out offensive. It's not for me to tell you whether to run or fight. But what I can tell you is that I had nothing to do with this attack, and this…" He gestured at the two subdued batarians. "This will only waste time and make it easier for Fletcher to come and kill you."

"He's lying!" Krieg growled. The man was bleeding from a gash on his left temple. A few in the crowd grumbled their assent.

"Major Vaughn is right!" Ezelle pushed through the crowd to stand by her comrades. "This is a time for all of us to work together! We were sent here by the Council to bring peace. We were sent to bring law and order, not to betray people and get them killed!" She shot a sidelong glance at Alexei – the look a subtle barb in reminder of the previous day's argument. The crowd seemed to calm somewhat at Ezelle's words; they seemed much more willing to trust an asari than a human.

"I agree." The voice was quiet, and yet its recognizable tone silenced the gathering. Wordlessly, the crowd parted to reveal Lady Isara. She was being led forward by Ranid and with Cass in tow. The asari matriarch motioned for two people to help the beaten batarians to their feet. "Time is short, and we need every person we can muster. You have news?" This last question was directed at Vaughn.

Vaughn nodded. "Nyla's still out here and she says it's bad. They're being overwhelmed by Fletcher's soldiers and it isn't long until they get here."

Isara nodded in acceptance of the dire information. "And will you stand with us, Major Vaughn?"

"I think I first need to know what your plans are," Vaughn said.

Isara thought for a moment. "To the northwest, the forests give way to ravines and mountains. There are caves with narrow approaches that would give an attacker difficulty."

"Why didn't you settle there to begin with?" Alexei asked.

"There isn't much water there, and game is scarce," Cass said. "Sure, it's easier to defend, but… well, we never expected **this**. Fletcher always had the manpower to attack us, but his casualties would be too great." She glanced at the smoldering remains of her treetop cannons and shook her head. "He must've lost a dozen shuttles so far – and on Elysium, that's a tremendous loss."

"He knows that the Council will eventually arrive to put a stop to things. The loss probably matters little to him now," Ranid said softly.

"Great," Alexei murmured under his breath. "So we just sped up the timeframe for everybody to kill each other."

"If it's about getting your people to safety, I'll do what I can." Vaughn pointed to his shuttle. "If you have sick or wounded, my shuttle can help transport them. But I have two people still out there, and my first priority is getting them out safe."

"Thank you." Isara bowed her head before turning to the rest of the crowd. "I will serve as a rear guard. Those of you that have weapons will join me. Those that do not will need to gather as much food and water as they can carry. Cassandra shall lead you to the caves."

"What?" Cass' eyes narrowed. "I have a gun and I know how to use it. I should stay."

"You will do as I ask, child." Isara's voice was unyielding, but she clasped Cass' hands in her own and squeezed. She whispered in a voice that Vaughn could barely hear, even at his close proximity. "Your life is precious. You must lead them, but I will return when I can."

Cass nodded, and Vaughn thought he could see a hint of emotion on the girl's normally expressionless face.

"What's our plan?" Alexei asked. "If we're going after Nyla and Kiros, that shuttle could be more useful with us."

Vaughn shook his head. "It might draw too much attention, and we need to rescue them quietly. Besides, once it makes the final drop-off at the caves, Private Joyce can extract us from somewhere safe."

"The clearing where we rescued Cass might work as a rally point," Ezelle suggested.

"Far enough from this mess, yet easy enough to reach on foot – that'll work," Vaughn agreed. "Ranid, I need somebody to stay with the shuttle for now. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir." Ranid bobbed his head.

"Ezelle." Vaughn turned to his asari commando. "With your biotics, you're the most mobile out of all of us. I want you to accompany the groups heading to the caves. But if you run into more trouble than you can handle, I'm ordering you to get out of there. Fast."

"I can do 'fast'," Ezelle said with a grin. "But… that just leaves just you and Alexei to find Nyla and Kiros."

"The forest out there is crawling with Fletcher's soldiers. Any non-humans are likely to draw fire," Vaughn explained. "Besides, it'll be just like old times. Right, Alexei?"

Alexei grunted in response, but there was a glimmer in the man's eye that Vaughn knew well. He was to ready to fight.

* * *

It didn't take long for the dense cover of passing trees to hide the firelight of Isara's camp. They were replaced by burning piles of twisted metal – Fletcher's casualties from the airstrikes – and these served to light the way for Vaughn and Alexei.

"I know this isn't what you wanted," Alexei began, breaking the quiet. "But the question still needs to be asked: do we use lethal force?"

Vaughn nodded. "I don't like it, because I doubt Fletcher's been honest with most of his people. But we can't afford to pull any punches here. We get Nyla and Kiros, no matter what."

"Good."

"Is that it?" Vaughn asked in mock annoyance. "I've been expecting a little speech about how I shouldn't blame myself for this latest disaster. Some friend you are."

Alexei snorted. "Nah… I wasn't going to say anything. You fight better when you're angry."

The darkness hid Vaughn's smile. To many, Alexei was a dour and impassive man. With those he didn't know well, he often fell back on a militaristic rigidity that sometimes struck people the wrong way. But Vaughn knew there was more to the man: a touch of humor, and even warmth that made the ex-Cerberus trooper a stalwart friend. And he was a good friend to have, for in battle, Alexei was a force to be reckoned with.

In the quiet, Vaughn listened to the distant gunfire. The firing had reached a frenzied intensity, creating a near-constant wall of sound. Part of him knew this to be a good thing. If it became more scattered and intermittent, then it likely meant that a defensive position had broken, and Isara's camp would be in trouble. But as he listened, there came a different sound. It took Vaughn a moment to realize that the direction of the shots was wrong.

Alexei also paused, seemingly detecting the same discrepancy. Then he broke into a sudden run, heading in the noise's direction. "That's a Phaeston assault rifle!" he called back.

Vaughn rushed to catch up. "You can tell?"

"The higher pitch," Alexei explained. "I've had them fired at me. From before."

Vaughn winced, not sure he wanted to know the details of how his friend had been on the wrong end of a turian, standard-military weapon. There was a tacit agreement between the two men to keep Alexei's Cerberus past quiet, especially given their new crewmates.

"Vaughn, you there?" Nyla's voice rang out over the comm channel. A loud burst of gunfire followed through the static, mirroring the staccato Vaughn could hear some distance ahead.

"We're close! Just hold on!" The pace of both men quickened.

After several minutes of sprinting, Vaughn signaled Alexei to slow down. The sound of gunfire was close. The major inched ahead of his comrade, sliding against a tree to peek his head out.

The area ahead was well-lit by flame. Two of Fletcher's ships had evidently been shot down, and from what Vaughn could tell, one of them must have been large – probably some kind of in-atmosphere cargo vessel. Whatever it was, it had enough force behind its crash landing to send a line of trees toppling, the impact evident through an ugly scar left in the forest floor. The two crashes had cleared a small space in the forest, and among those fallen trees was Nyla.

The turian soldier was pinned down behind one of the fallen trees, forced low to the ground by the unending stream of bullets that splintered her cover. Occasionally, she would risk return fire, but could only do so in short, awkwardly-aimed bursts since she was forced to keep her head down. Several fallen trees ahead of her, a group of five similarly-sheltered soldiers kept up the onslaught. The flaming wreckage was behind Nyla, and Vaughn didn't envy being close to such stifling heat.

Vaughn instantly began to survey the small battlefield, looking for opportunities to strike. He and Alexei had come upon the skirmish at a slight angle – Nyla closest to them and to their left, with Fletcher's soldiers farther away and to their right.

"They haven't tried flanking her." Alexei's voice sounded from behind Vaughn, puzzlement in his voice.

"She's got them nervous," Vaughn said, motioning to the space in between the two battling sides. Two dead soldiers – humans and therefore Fletcher's – lay slumped over a fallen tree they had presumably tried to vault.

Alexei gave a nod of admiration. "So, what's the plan? It's only a matter of time until they gather their courage and realize they need to get around her."

"Or they might be waiting for backup. We need to be fast." Strategies and tactics raced through Vaughn's mind.

"I got a grenade – that might flush them out." When Alexei noticed Vaughn's cocked eyebrow, he elaborated. "I nabbed one from the armory soon after we got here. There was no way I was spending time on this planet without one. You telling me you didn't grab any?"

Vaughn flushed slightly in embarrassment. He avoided the question. "A single grenade won't take them all out. They're not close enough together, and the thick, fallen trees will soak up some of the blast. We need to draw them out. If we don't get them all, the heavy cover will make it easy for them to dig in, making our escape difficult."

The corners of Alexei's lips twitched upward as he recognized the look of dawning satisfaction on Vaughn's face. "But let me guess, Vaughn – you have an idea."

* * *

"Crawl over a few meters," Vaughn instructed Nyla over the comm channel. "But keep behind the tree and don't let them know you've shifted position."

"If you say so," Nyla said. "But from there, it'll only make my firing angle worse."

"That won't matter in a minute," Vaughn replied. "When I shoot, you'll be able to pop out of cover and start firing. Also… you might want to flare up your biotic barrier, if you can. Just in case."

Nyla muttered something that Vaughn couldn't quite hear through the comm, but he could guess what she said. Vaughn then signaled to Alexei.

The larger man stalked through the trees, remaining concealed as he began to flank Nyla's original position. When he was in place, Alexei lifted his brute of a shotgun to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

Vaughn felt the roar of the shotgun rumble through his bones. A shower of wooden splinters rained down as part of Nyla's tree exploded, right where she had been sheltering a few moments before. The effect of the shotgun blast was immediate, as Fletcher's soldiers stopped their firing. There was silence. Alexei stepped from the shadows and strolled to the scarred and pockmarked tree, his weapon resting nonchalantly on his shoulder.

"You know, I felt some of that deflect off my barrier," Nyla hissed in muffled annoyance. Alexei had tinkered with his shotgun's barrel, limiting the spread of shot to a narrower cone of fire. Still, it **was **a shotgun, after all.

Alexei ignored the reproof and pretended to inspect the spot where Nyla's corpse would've been, had she not moved. "Well, that's a bit messy," he noted, loud enough for Fletcher's soldiers to hear.

"Who are you?" one of them called back. The burning, downed ship was behind Alexei, making him visible as nothing more than a silhouette. Alexei was clearly human, but not much else could be seen.

"Command sent me; I have orders," Alexei lied. "All of you are to come with me. They need us to hit a target nearby and I'm supposed to lead you there."

The man who had called out to Alexei half-stood from his cover. In the flickering light, the look on his face was one of confusion. He pulled a small, weathered-looking device from his waist and held it to his mouth.

"If they wanted to use comms, they wouldn't have sent me!" Alexei boomed in feigned annoyance. "Put that radio away. They think the girl found a way to listen in, and they need this done quietly."

The man hesitated, but did as instructed. "Cass? Christ, I'll be glad when she's finally out of the picture…"

"You come with me now, and we can make that happen sooner," Alexei said impatiently. "Let's go." He spoke in an authoritative, confident tone that would brook no argument.

The five soldiers all got to their feet and clumsily made their way over fallen trees. The ex-Cerberus man stood waiting, his arms folded with his shotgun holstered. But Vaughn knew his friend was far from idle.

However, when all five of them got within a few paces, the apparent leader of the small squad halted. From that distance, it was easier to get a better look at Alexei. It could have been Alexei's size, his unfamiliar face, or the fact that most of Alexei's weapons and armor didn't look worn-down enough. Whatever it was, the squad leader wasn't given a chance to voice his obvious suspicion.

Alexei flung his arm out, unleashing the dark energy his biotics had been gathering. He wasn't a strong enough biotic to send all five men flying, but the assault was more than enough to knock them back and off-balance.

Vaughn fired the first shot from his Black Widow rifle. It was a weapon he didn't use as often as his main assault weapon, and he wasn't on the level of most dedicated snipers. But he was good enough. He watched the enemy squad leader spin as the bullet found its mark. His single shot was echoed by a burst of fire from Nyla, the piercing bullets sending bodies twitching to the ground. Vaughn fired a second shot and then stopped. In mere seconds, it was over.

"Everybody okay?" Vaughn asked as he joined Alexei and a limping Nyla out in the open.

"I think a bullet or two grazed my shields," Alexei grumbled with an accusing look in Nyla's direction.

Nyla flashed her pointed teeth at him in a mocking grin. Then as she turned to Vaughn, she waved at her leg. "I'll live. I might need some help walking, though."

"The plan is to head to the clearing where we met Cass and wait for the shuttle to pick us up," Alexei said. "We should get going before more enemies arrive."

"Not yet." Vaughn shook his head. "Kiros is still out here."

"His comm has been down since the shooting started. Based on where I saw him last, he might already be dead," Nyla said solemnly. "Even if he isn't, it's dark and he could've moved just about anywhere by now."

"The chances aren't great," Vaughn admitted. "But I'm not going to give up on him without trying. He's a part of this team."

Alexei grimaced as he activated his omni-tool. "Yeah, well... he hasn't moved recently from what I can tell. Probably dead."

Vaughn blinked in surprise. "Alexei, what is that?"

"Hmm? Just me taking precautions." Alexei shrugged. "You've got a salarian councilor who hates you. It seemed a good idea to upload a tracker onto Kiros' omni-tool when he wasn't looking."

"Care to tell me who else you're spying on?" Vaughn asked, briefly closing his eyes in exasperation.

"Just him."

"Spirits, I'm just impressed you managed to plant something on a STG agent," Nyla chimed in.

"Transfer me a copy of the tracker," Vaughn said with a sigh of resignation. "And then take Nyla to the extraction point. I'll meet you there."

"What?" Alexei's brow furrowed. "You're not going out there alone."

"Nyla can't walk by herself, and being seen with a non-human out here is a good way to catch a bullet." Vaughn looked his friend in the eyes. "And I'm not going to tell you to look for him in my place. He's my responsibility."

Vaughn knew the risk he was taking. Some part of him agreed with Alexei, and he was tempted to just move on with the rest of the team. But he knew the success of the overall expedition hinged on having people he could rely on – a team that trusted him. Could he really expect such trust if he abandoned one of them so easily, so soon after meeting them? _"I can't give up on somebody like that. I won't."_

"I don't like it either," Nyla said. "But… it's no secret that you and Councilor Osule don't get along. She won't hesitate to make the argument that you abandoned Kiros for dead. I'm not trying to say it's worth your life, but it's something you should know."

"I have to do this, Alexei. Besides, it'll be easier than you think. Fletcher's men aren't likely to shoot a human on sight." Vaughn hoped he was right on that assumption.

Alexei scowled but finally nodded. "Whatever you say. Just get it done fast – we've wasted enough time already." He tossed something to Vaughn. "And take this. The grenade... hopefully you won't need to use it."

"Well, that's settled." Nyla hobbled over to Alexei. "Let me just-"

Without warning, Alexei scooped up Nyla as if she weighed nothing, setting her on his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Quicker this way," he grunted. "Plus, if anybody comes up behind us you might be able to shoot them."

For a second, Nyla looked too stunned to speak. But finally, she seemed to swallow her pride. "Fine," she ground out through gritted teeth.

Vaughn hid his amusement and loaded a fresh thermal clip into his weapon. With nothing more to be said, they parted – Vaughn heading north, and Alexei with Nyla heading south. When Vaughn stepped just out of range of the light of the flames, he stopped to watch the pair disappear into the trees. He half-expected Alexei to try and follow him, yet he was alone.

"Time to see how a bad of an idea this really is," Vaughn quipped to himself. And then he turned, racing forward into the uncertain night.


	12. Dying Embers

CHAPTER TWELVE: Dying Embers

The first corpses appeared twenty minutes into Major Daniel Vaughn's journey. They were hard to see in the dim light, and at first, they only showed in ones and twos. Yet as Vaughn ventured further north into the woods, more appeared. The bodies were a mix of batarians, asari, salarians, and humans. By a rough estimate, there seemed to be an even split between the number of dead humans and dead aliens. But Vaughn knew that this spelled trouble. After all, Fletcher's men would've outnumbered Lady Isara's scouts at least five to one. Her losses would be more sorely felt.

By the time Vaughn reached to where the skirmish had been the bloodiest, he reckoned there must have been fifty bodies within his line of sight. It was hard to be sure, however. The crashed, flaming shuttles that had lit his way were beginning to die out, leaving only smoky heaps of dull red light. Tiny fires smoldered from where ejected thermal clips had caught and ignited the grasses of the forest floor.

"_No survivors..."_ Vaughn observed. This probably meant that the humans had already scoured this battlefield for wounded – retrieving their allies and finishing off any of Isara's people. Scattered weapons fire sounded from both the west and the north. The battle still raged on, and Vaughn was thankful to find himself in its wake.

Ducking behind a large tree to shield some of his light, Vaughn glanced at his luminescent omni-tool. Kiros – or at least, Kiros' omni-tool with its hidden tracker – was close. A white dot on his holographic display flashed silently. Alexei had been right, for the signal hadn't been moving.

"Major… Major Vaughn?" A weak voice wavered through the night.

Vaughn jerked around, his free hand instinctively drawing and leveling his pistol at the darkness. For a moment, there was only silence. He squinted and tried to find the voice's location.

"Major Vaughn, please..." The voice sounded again, and this time Vaughn could see its source.

Vaughn rushed to the side of the asari woman on the ground. It took him a moment to recall the familiar face, but he soon remembered the name: Glissa, the asari scout who had greeted his team when he had brought Cass back to camp.

Glissa's wounds were bad. It was no surprise that Fletcher's soldiers had mistaken her for a corpse, for Vaughn could tell that she didn't have long. Her chest was a horror of cerulean blood, masking what must have been at least half a dozen bullet wounds. Rivulets of blood streamed from Glissa's mouth as her throat rattled for breath.

"Glissa, I..." Vaughn had trouble continuing. During the war, he had seen many fellow soldiers die at his side. He had never quite gotten used to the hollow comforts he was expected to give.

"You're here to help us, major?" Glissa asked. A smile struggled to life on her lips. "You'll help us fight back."

"I'm doing what I can to get your people to safety," said Vaughn.

"Thank you." Glissa nodded. "Will y-" Her question was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit, one which brought up a blue-tinged froth to her lips.

Vaughn winced. She was well past medi-gel at this point; the most he could do was stay for her passing. "I'm here, Glissa. What is it?"

"Will you kill him? Will… will you make him suffer for doing this?" Her voice became pleading. Her hand tightened around his. "Make Fletcher's death a slow one."

Vaughn was speechless, filled with shock and even a measure of revulsion at the request. And yet, he felt nothing but hatred for Colonel Elias Fletcher at that moment. There was a small voice that persisted at the back of his mind, trying to remind him that he was there to bring peace – to bring an end to the fighting. But as he knelt, surrounded by death, that voice was growing weaker.

He was spared the need to answer. A final breath wheezed in Glissa's chest, and an eerie stillness came upon her body. Glassy eyes still locked with his. A ghost of her sad smile sat fixed with blood-stained lips.

"God dammit." Vaughn stood and turned away. He sighed and forced himself to calm down. _"There's nothing I can do about Fletcher right now,"_ he reminded himself. Finding Kiros could be his only immediate goal.

He crept over bodies, accompanied only by his thoughts – yet all he could think about was the logic behind Fletcher's attack. Undoubtedly, Fletcher saw this night as his best opportunity to revenge himself on Lady Isara, and he was probably right. Vaughn cursed himself for not expecting it. However, there was something not quite right about the assault. Isara's eastern scouts had been engaged, but no other part of the perimeter had been hit. Rather than force his attack in a single direction, Fletcher could've used his shuttles as troop transports, sending them in wide, circuitous routes to allow his forces to encircle Isara. Instead, he was giving her and the other exiles an opening to fall back. _"This was a push," _Vaughn concluded. _"But why?"_

The frequency of the tracker's soft pinging increased. Vaughn came upon a lone tree, one that was some distance away from the rest of the carnage. The major glanced about the wide tree trunk, but could see nothing. He also searched the canopy above. Nothing there, either.

Or so he thought. However, as Vaughn began to turn from the overhead leaves, a sudden flash of movement made him stop. In truth, movement was not quite the correct way to describe it. The item itself was stationary – it had merely phased into sight. Vaughn blinked in surprise as he saw Kiros lying in the branches. The salarian's eyes were closed, but a faint whisper of breath told Vaughn that he was still alive. After a few moments, a buzzing noise sounded, and Kiros started to vanish again.

Realization dawned on the major. Kiros had hidden himself in the tree, and then had set his tactical cloak to cycle when it needed to recharge. It was a clever trick, one that had evidently paid off in keeping him hidden.

Vaughn reached up, just barely able to reach the salarian. The jarring movement applied to Kiros' body disrupted the cloaking field, allowing Vaughn to more easily lower him to the forest floor. But upon setting him down, Vaughn froze in momentary shock.

There were two small bullet holes in Kiros' stomach. Vaughn nearly despaired at the sight, for such a dire injury would be beyond his ability to treat. However, something about the wound was odd. Medi-gel had been applied, but the bullet holes seemed smaller than they should have been. It almost looked as if Kiros had been healing for days, yet the blood on Kiros' uniform was still wet.

"About time you got here..." Kiros said in a voice stronger than Vaughn expected to hear. The salarian's eyes opened slowly, his face settling into a mocking grin.

"Kiros? How-"

"You're wondering about the wound, I imagine." Kiros pulled himself up to a sitting position, flinching only slightly.

"Not even medi-gel heals that fast."

Kiros smirked, clearly intent on taking his time before responding. "I don't know how much you humans know about nanotechnology," he began, maintaining his smug expression. "But the STG have made great strides in the last decade – especially with regard to medicine. Right now, several thousand tiny machines are pumping through my bloodstream, repairing damage. Specialized and personalized, quick and effective..."

"Impressive." Vaughn masked his surprise. To his knowledge, that level of medical science was still experimental – nearly theoretical. "And was the STG planning to share this technology at some point?"

"I said 'personalized'," the salarian scoffed. "They need to be custom-designed to a person – a salarian – or the body will reject them. Besides, they're so expensive that only the STG's **top** operatives are worth the price." Kiros paused, glancing down at an empty injector in his hand. "Very expensive… and hard to manufacture."

"You're lucky to still be alive," Vaughn said. "Look around you."

"I took the two bullets early in the fight. If I hadn't, this battlefield would look a lot different right now," Kiros boasted, but then shrugged. "So what's the plan now?"

"Retreat," Vaughn replied bitterly. "Retreat and live to fight another day. Lady Isara is doing the same, falling back to a defensible position in the mountain caves to the northwest."

Kiros nodded his acceptance. "Fair enough."

"Can you walk?"

"I have thousands of tiny robots working on the shredded remains of my intestines and abdominal muscles." The smirk returned to Kiros' face. "But hell, I'll give it a try."

Kiros pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself on the tree beside him. He didn't cry out as he moved, but his face twitched, contorting slightly with the pain of moving. Exhaling a deep breath, Kiros took a tentative first step forward. Then a second.

Vaughn reached out a hand. "Here, let me-"

"I can manage this," Kiros said flatly.

Vaughn withdrew his hand and instead reached for a sturdy-looking branch that had fallen from a nearby tree. "Will this help?"

Kiros gave a curt nod as he accepted the makeshift cane.

"If you need to take a break, we can. But just know-"

"We have to hurry, I get it," Kiros interrupted again with an impatient wave of his free hand. He spoke through gritted teeth as he hurried to what would've been a fast walking pace under normal conditions. "I said I can manage this."

Vaughn nodded, pleased with the salarian's determination. He activated his omni-tool's low-light setting, giving the pair just enough illumination to avoid the bodies as they moved. If Kiros tripped and fell, Vaughn had his doubts about how quickly the salarian could help himself back up again.

"So how did you manage to find me?" The dreaded question came after several minutes of walking.

Vaughn winced. He had been hoping that Kiros would never think to question his rescue. The prospect of explaining that Alexei had placed a tracker on his salarian squadmate wasn't a pleasant one. As he struggled to think of a believable excuse, Vaughn glanced at Kiros and noticed a subtle grin. "So… you already know."

Kiros snorted. "You think I don't check my omni-tool's firmware before a mission? But I will say this for Corporal Volkov: he hid his tracks decently enough. It might've worked on somebody who wasn't STG."

"Either way, he shouldn't have done it. I intend to have a long talk with him when all of this is finished."

"You didn't order him to plant it?" Kiros asked dubiously.

"Of course not. If this team is going to work, I can't build its foundation on suspicion and distrust."

Kiros went silent at this, and a lull settled over the conversation. After several minutes, it looked as if he would speak – but a sudden noise killed the words before they could escape his lips. There came a cracking of fallen branches from their right. Instantly, the pair ducked and turned to face the commotion. Vaughn killed the light of his omni-tool.

After a few tense heartbeats, Vaughn could just barely make out a dark shape stalking through the trees. It moved slowly, pausing every few steps as if to regard the surrounding darkness. The figure's shape was large, and the slender shaft of the weapon it held was familiar.

"I can smell you..." Grall rumbled in a voice dripping with malice. The krogan lumbered a few steps further and tapped his makeshift axe against a tree trunk. "I can hear your heartbeat."

Vaughn didn't believe that krogan actually possessed such heightened senses, yet the effect of Grall's words was chilling all the same. And the grim reality of their situation was clear. The krogan was drawing closer. He didn't seem to know where they were exactly, but they wouldn't remain hidden for long. Vaughn had few options, for with Kiros' injured condition, running was out of the question.

Vaughn and Kiros shared a look, neither daring to speak. Instead, the major pointed at himself, mimed the act of shooting a rifle, and then pointed back at Kiros. Nodding, the salarian pulled out his monomolecular daggers and began to vanish into the cover of his tactical cloak. Vaughn slowly reached over his shoulder to grip the butt of his N7 Typhoon rifle. He wasn't sure how long to give the injured salarian, and so he waited almost a full two minutes. Then, steeling his resolve and praying for the best, he edged out of cover and squeezed the trigger.

As Vaughn expected, the stream of bullets deflected away from Grall as they made contact. He had aimed the weapon carefully, so that the projectiles blocked by Grall's biotic barrier wouldn't redirect toward Kiros' approach. The thermal clip burned out. Ejecting the clip, Vaughn dashed a few meters to another tree, hearing a biotic impact slam behind him. Vaughn reloaded and peeked his head out from behind his new shelter. "Now's your chance," he murmured, urging Kiros under his breath.

By their very nature, biotic barriers were more unpredictable than standard kinetic shielding. The power came from a biotic's ability to muster and deploy dark energy, and so the protection's capacity was never clear to an attacker. Additionally, barriers contoured to a biotic's body and were not limited only to the stopping of fast-moving projectiles. Yet there was one possible disadvantage that could be exploited. Biotic barriers, like kinetic shields, would weaken upon damage. And while kinetic shielding gave a fixed protection that aimed in all directions, biotic barriers were often redirected to where one anticipated danger.

Vaughn and Kiros both knew this, and so the attack was easily formulated with their minimal communication. In their last encounter, Kiros hadn't used his tactical cloak, and so Vaughn knew Grall wouldn't expect a strike from behind. And under better conditions, the plan might have worked.

There was a snarl of pain. Kiros stumbled into sight – several meters short of his target. Vaughn could only watch in despair as the abrupt movement shattered the cloak's delicate projection. Kiros let loose a string of curses as his body failed him, for it was clear now that he hadn't healed enough. A moment was all it took for everything to spiral out of control.

Grall bellowed something incomprehensible as he turned to face Kiros. The axe swung. But despite Kiros' injury, the salarian was able to twist and throw himself away from the whistling blade. He was not quick enough, however, to escape the bone-jarring biotic force that sent him flying back. Kiros thudded against a tree and went still.

Vaughn fired another spray of bullets, yet Grall anticipated him this time. Another biotic attack was flung toward Vaughn, but this one was aimed at the ground just past Vaughn's cover, rather than directly at him. The shockwave of residual dark energy ballooned outward. Vaughn felt himself get pushed to the side and into the open. Before he could react and scramble back into cover, there came a pull, and the rifle was ripped from his hands.

"Kiros!" Vaughn yelled as he stumbled forward. The salarian didn't respond, didn't even move. Then a push came. Vaughn was sent careening backward. He rolled as he fell, but adroitly managed to rip his Black Widow rifle from its holster. The barrel of the secondary weapon was still extending as he came upright onto one knee. A single blast thundered in the night.

Grall roared in sudden pain as the high-powered round lanced through his shoulder. This illustrated a second weakness of biotic users: power had to be divided between attacking and defending.

Truthfully, Vaughn was surprised that his hastily-aimed shot had connected. His satisfaction didn't last long. He had no time to react as the near-instant counterattack came. A loud screeching noise wailed next to Vaughn's head.

In a cacophony of shattering ceramic and splintering carbon fiber, the armor plating of Vaughn's shoulder rent itself apart from a biotic warping attack. The warping distortion also tore at the rifle still in firing position, and to Vaughn's dismay, the weapon he had carried through the entire Reaper War finally broke. The butt of the rifle suffered under the same twisting of shifting mass effect fields, and shards of tortured metal showered the faceplate of Vaughn's helmet. The housing for the weapon's thermal clip split open, sending the glowing cylinder spiraling away.

It took Vaughn a moment to recover his senses. As he did so, he found himself on the ground, not remembering the fall. He ripped off his now-blinding helmet, its faceplate scratched up beyond all usability. Within a second's span, he registered several things: that he now had only his sidearm, the upper right section of his armor was a broken mess, and his shoulder was starting to bleed. He ignored the pain and began to move once more. While he scrambled to his feet, a thudding noise sounded in his ears. At first he thought this to be his own heartbeat. It wasn't. It was the pounding footsteps of a charging krogan.

"I smell your fear." Grall swung his axe in an overhead strike, one Vaughn narrowly missed by dodging to the side. "I will taste your death."

Vaughn ignored the taunts, and as he moved past Grall, he swung what remained of his ruined rifle at the krogan's face. If any of the impact was felt through Grall's biotic barrier, he didn't show any pain. Instead, the alien laughed.

"You are weak. I am a champion of the krogan!"

"You've been away from your people for a long time," Vaughn said as he crouched low, ready to dodge the next axe strike. "I've met them – I have one of them on my team. You're no champion of theirs. You're just a mindless killer, drunk on bloodlust and high on Minagen." Indeed, at this distance, Vaughn was able to see that the krogan's eyes were dilated to the point where they looked completely black.

"Minagen gives me strength." To prove the point, the sidearm holster at Vaughn's hip suddenly tore away, taking a chunk of armor with it. Holding the floating weapon between them, Grall began to collapse the pistol in on itself with crushing biotic forces.

Vaughn swore. He had been hoping the krogan wouldn't realize that the pistol was there. As his last weapon, his best chance would have been to wait and fire into some weakened portion of the barrier. But now that hope was lost.

"Bloodlust is the gift of my ancestors." Grall brandished his axe for emphasis. The blade reflected the cold blue light of Grall's ever-present biotic shimmer. "Ancestors who charged into battle with axe and hammer. Ancestors like the great Surloc Khosk, who stormed and ravaged the High Pantheon. We have slaughtered our gods, those who have made us." His tone was like that of a priest delivering a sermon.

"You've completely lost your mind," Vaughn murmured, though he didn't voice the opinion loud enough for Grall to hear. In a louder voice, he tried a different tactic. "Your people have been cured of the genophage. They've been given a second chance. You can leave this place and rejoin them, but first, this bloodshed needs to stop."

"I will not leave this place!" Grall roared. "These are my slaughtering grounds, granted to me by my ancestors! I shall reap blood and screams!"

Vaughn ground his teeth; there was no reasoning with the krogan in his current state. His frustration got the better of him. "Would a krogan champion be the pet of a man like Elias Fletcher? Let me guess: he's the one who gives you the Minagen. He manipulates you, making it so that you're weak without him."

Grall howled again, but with a ferocious intensity that made Vaughn blanch. The krogan's hand shot out enveloped in azure light.

Vaughn felt as if a shuttle had rammed into him. The breath vanished from his lungs as his whole world became a blur of movement. Wind whistled past his ears, punctuated by thuds as he landed and bounced off the forest floor. Groaning and gasping for breath, Vaughn pulled himself into a sitting position and glanced down at his armor. The chest plate was a fractured wreck. The armor had absorbed enough of the blow to prevent serious bodily harm, but it was obviously beyond repair.

Grall continued to advance. He seemed to have calmed his sudden bout of rage, but a disconcerting, sharp-toothed smile made Vaughn's blood run cold.

_"Dammit..."_ Vaughn's dazed mind struggled to think of a plan. Many of the usual tactics for fighting biotic users seemed so inadequate. Grall's drug-enhanced ability made attrition impossible one-on-one. And there was no running from the faster krogan, even if Vaughn was willing to do the despicable thing of leaving Kiros behind. Vaughn watched the relentless krogan stride forth and knew that he was simply outmatched.

Above all, it was obvious that Grall was toying with him. With the aid of Minagen, a single biotic attack could snap Vaughn's neck from a short distance. A biotic stasis field could hold him in place just long enough for an axe blow to cleave him in half. Vaughn's death was meant to be slow… but that could be his one saving grace.

"Blood and screams," Grall whispered reverently. His dilated pupils glimmered like pools of ink.

Vaughn surreptitiously moved his hand, feeling at his belt. There was the shape of a familiar item in one of his pouches. Its presence elicited a sigh of relief. He then glanced at Kiros, some twenty meters away. The salarian stirred in his unconsciousness. "I can't win this," Vaughn murmured to his comrade. "I can't promise our safety, but this is the best I can do."

The major began to pull himself away on hands and knees. He coughed and wheezed, making what he knew to be a pitiful-looking escape. Vaughn could hear Grall's laughter rumble like thunder from behind him. The krogan was close – but the plan seemed to be working. Vaughn then groaned with feigned injury, yet his eyes were alert, scanning the ground in front of him. And then he saw it: a small rock about the size of his closed fist. It was perfect.

Vaughn, crying out in exaggerated agony, made himself collapse over the rock. He then kept up the act, rolling onto his back and then dragging himself away, kicking and pulling at the dirt. Grall seemed to enjoy the sight – he didn't realize that the human's advanced armor had actually protected against much of the biotic attack's ferocity. Vaughn felt sweat trickle down his neck as the seconds ticked by.

"You should..." Vaughn began in a weak voice. "You should know..." His voice trailed off to an unintelligible whisper.

"Speak to me your last words," Grall sneered, stepping forward and looming over the fallen human. He reached down and snatched at Vaughn's neck, lifting the man to eye-level with ease.

Vaughn felt powerful fingers close around his neck, but the grip was light enough that he could still croak out the words. "Behind you."

The grenade detonated, rumbling the night with its volatile fury. The item – given to Vaughn by Alexei – had been secreted away underneath the small rock. But the stone did nothing to impede the explosion. Smoke plumed, and shrapnel splintered the bark from trees. Showers of dirt and rock fragments pattered the ground, and as the debris settled, a krogan and a human both fell.


	13. Damnation

Author's Note: Whew, extremely late on this chapter… My apologies. Part of the reason for the delay was because I felt I needed a slight overhaul on everything. There's nothing significantly rewritten – it was mainly an attempt to trim some fat, make dialogue less stilted in places, and move some stuff from the narrator to character dialogue/internal monologue.

I think the first chapter endured the most change, but plot-relevant items weren't touched. Assuming you can remember what's happened to Vaughn and company after so long, there shouldn't be a need to re-read anything. Well, enough rambling for now…

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Damnation

Corporal Alexei Volkov stood as if carved from stone, his rigid face squinting at the far tree line. He searched for the emergence of shapes. Devoid of trees, the clearing was lit by starlight – there wasn't much, but it was a welcome change from the kilometers of canopy-darkened forest. And yet, aside from a slight breeze that stirred the dark mass of foliage, there was nobody for Alexei to see.

"I'm sure he's fine," Nyla said from beside him. She sat on the ground, her legs stretched out as she changed her bandages.

Alexei grunted in response, prompting a sigh from the turian woman.

"Not very talkative are you?" Nyla pulled herself to her feet and hobbled beside him.

"We're in the middle of a mission. I don't need the distraction." Alexei found himself regretting the curt tone of his reply. It wasn't that he disliked Nyla, but he felt uneasy around the woman – around any of the alien crew. He always felt as if the wrong thing might slip out of his mouth. He felt no shame at having served in Cerberus, but even he had to admit that the organization had sometimes cultivated certain biases. "Vaughn's late," Alexei found himself adding in a softer tone.

"Well, we've only been here ninety minutes," Nyla said. "Even under ideal conditions he'd be a full thirty behind us. If he found Kiros injured, that'd delay him even more."

Alexei shook his head. "I've already tried raising him on the comm several times. Static." At this, they both went quiet.

After a minute of silence, Nyla spoke up again. "What about your tracker?" she suggested.

"Tracker?" Alexei frowned. "Only Kiros has-" He paused. Alexei had assumed that the salarian was dead, but something about his location could provide a clue. It was worth a try, at least. Alexei activated his omni-tool, waiting for the weak signal to resolve. Without any satellites or the Antietam's functioning repeater node, their distant shuttlecraft's weaker hardware was being used. A pinging white dot finally appeared on Alexei's display. He cursed.

"What is it?"

"Illyria," Alexei said in a low voice. "The signal is coming from the heart of Fletcher's territory."

Nyla grimaced. "Spirits..."

"So Kiros is alive," Alexei muttered. "Shuttlecraft is the only way he could've made it there that quick. And there's no point in transporting a corpse."

"Prisoner?" Nyla asked.

"Maybe." Alexei watched the flashing dot with a blank expression. He wondered if the night's events – including Vaughn's disappearance – were the result of some intricate betrayal. It was hard to believe, and yet… _"You can't assume he's a traitor because he's an alien," _Alexei reminded himself.

Regardless, this information didn't necessarily reveal anything about Vaughn. Vaughn's absence **could** mean that the major had been delayed while taking an indirect route to avoid capture. _"But even if he was on the run, Vaughn still should've been able to send a brief message," _Alexei thought. _"He could be… no he's not dead. I won't believe that." _This left Alexei with only one conclusion. There was little that was logical about this confidence, but Alexei trusted his gut feeling. He knew where he needed to go.

Before he could voice his thoughts, Alexei was interrupted by the sound of an incoming shuttle. The familiar frame of one of the Antietam's Kodiaks touched down in the small grassy field. Alexei noted that the once-pristine hull was scarred by small bullet marks, though the damage looked superficial. The doors retracted to reveal Ezelle and Ranid as the two stepped out to greet Nyla and Alexei.

"Trouble?" Nyla asked, pointing to the dents in the shuttle's hull.

"The camp has fallen," Ranid replied in a somber tone. "We made constant trips to ferry those that were too weak to make it to the caves on foot. But… an hour ago, just as we were extracting another group from the camp, enemy soldiers burst through the trees." He shook his head. "They were everywhere."

Ezelle gave a weary sigh. "We had some luck, at least. The trek northwest was safe. No ambushes on those of us who went to the caves on foot." She did her best to hide it, but it was obvious that the asari woman was tired. Nobody had gotten much sleep since the mission on Elysium had started, and a three-hour march through a vast stretch of dense forest didn't help.

"Where is Major Vaughn?" the quarian asked, glancing around for the team's commanding officer.

"Taken captive," Alexei ground out. "He and Kiros. Fletcher must have brought them to Illyria." He received a curious look from Nyla but after a second's consideration, the turian woman nodded her assent.

Ezelle closed her eyes, and her delicate features morphed into a pained expression. "So what do we do now?"

"After Vaughn, the chain of command isn't quite clear," Ranid commented. "Perhaps-"

"I'm taking command." Alexei folded his arms.

The group fell silent. The way Alexei saw it, there weren't many options. Ranid was competent, but he was clearly too timid. Ezelle was still young, and she had no experience leading missions like this. However… there was Nyla. She had been the leader of her cabal during the war, and so the turian woman was also a legitimate choice.

"_But if Vaughn's in trouble, then I can't trust this to her," _Alexei thought. _"Only I can do this. If her damned turian arrogance-"_

"That makes sense," Nyla regarded Alexei with a slight bow of her head. "What are your orders?"

Alexei bit back his surprise and felt the beginnings of guilt twist inside him. He forced himself to ignore it. "No matter how you look at it, there's only one thing for us to do. Vaughn and Kiros are in Illyria. The frigate we need to save the Antietam is also in Illyria."

"You mean we're going to stage an attack?" Private Joyce, the shuttle's pilot, appeared in the vehicle's open doorway. She looked apprehensive.

"Alexei has the right idea," Nyla said. "All our objectives are in once place. And attacking **now** is the best chance we have. Fletcher's soldiers are still here in the forest, meaning his defenses are at their weakest."

"Is the shuttle ready?" Alexei directed the question to Joyce.

"She took some light arms fire, but she's solid. Just point me where to go." Joyce looked just as tired as Ezelle; multiple extraction runs between the camp and the caves seemed to have also taken their toll. She then seemed to notice Alexei's inspection, for she immediately straightened and forced a smile to her lips. "I'm ready."

"How about you?" Alexei asked Nyla.

The turian took a few more steps around the clearing, testing the application of weight on her wounded leg. "The bullet passed through, and medi-gel's doing its job. I think I can manage, but I'll admit – I'm not at my best right now."

"Contact," Ranid spoke suddenly. His rifle snapped to his shoulder as he swiveled to the north end of the clearing. "Three shapes."

"Get us in the air," Alexei barked to Joyce. "Once we make visual confirmation, we'll use the shuttle's weapons. If they're Fletcher's, we can't afford letting them tell-"

"Wait!" Ezelle interrupted. "Look!"

One of the figures at the far end of the clearing was waving. The light of the moonless Elysium sky didn't provide much illumination, but the figure's waving hand was glowing blue with biotic energy.

The colorful shapes on Ranid's visor display shifted visibly. He leaned forward and astonishment sounded in his quiet voice. "It's the Matriarch Isara."

"I thought she didn't make it," Ezelle said with similar surprise. "When Fletcher's men started pouring into the camp, she refused to take up space on the shuttle."

"And so she ran here?" Alexei's brow furrowed.

As the three figures came closer, Alexei could make out Lady Isara and two of her batarian scouts. The corporal scowled as he recognized Krieg. The two batarians were panting, as they must have kept a sprinting pace the entire way from the camp to the clearing. Isara, on the other hand, looked completely composed and unaffected by the flight south. _"Her biotics?" _Alexei mused. _"Either way, she's stronger than she looks..."_

"I am fortunate that you are still here," Isara said as she halted several meters from the shuttle.

"We weren't expecting you," Alexei said. "Why are you here?"

"As soldiers closed in, I gave my remaining people the order to retreat. I knew many of Fletcher's men would pursue me and so I headed south – to draw them away from those who would try to flee toward the caves. I was aware of your plans to regroup here, and so I hurried, hoping I could make it in time."

Alexei reflexively swiveled toward the northern trees. "You drew them here?"

"They should still be some distance behind us. And they will need to proceed more carefully, given the traps my scouts have been setting. Of course, there **is** the possibility they might call for air support. Perhaps it would be prudent for us to depart?"

Within minutes, the eight of them had packed back into the shuttle and lifted off into the night sky. To the east, the first hints of dawn were transforming the world to a dull gray. As they ascended, Alexei explained the situation to Isara. She had the grace to look saddened at the news of Vaughn's capture.

"Take us south," Alexei ordered Joyce. "We'll take an indirect route to Illyria, just in case any of Lady Isara's pursuers are close enough to see the shuttle." He turned to the asari matriarch beside him. "There's no time to take you back to your people in the caves. Now's my best chance to strike, and I intend to take it."

Isara shared a look with her two batarian companions and nodded. "We will support you in this. Many more of my people would be dead if Vaughn had not given us use of this shuttle." She turned to Ezelle, regarding the younger asari with stern eyes. "I must ask: how many of my people made it to the caves this night?"

Ezelle shook her head sadly. She seemed to have trouble meeting the matriarch's gaze. "Less than two hundred and fifty. Maybe a few more, if some of your rear guard make it back."

A silent tremble of anger passed over Isara's face, but it soon passed. "The survivors will be safe with Cassandra," she spoke softly, her eyes closed.

Krieg barked a humorless chuckle. "Cass is gonna be pissed that she missed out on this."

"Sir?" Joyce called back to Alexei from the cockpit. "The Antietam's comm node has been flickering in and out of operation as they make repairs. They're down now, but I can make sure they receive a message."

"We took the liberty of sending one earlier, letting them know about the attack and the retreat to the caves," Ezelle chimed in.

Alexei paused. He remembered the slight tension between Vaughn and Harper regarding the expedition's leadership. If he reached out now, would she try and usurp command of the operation now that Vaughn was captured? _"I can't afford that," _he thought to himself. "That message you sent will be good enough," Alexei said. He turned to look at what was left of the squad. "It's just us down here. And we have a counterattack to plan."

* * *

Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn's world had been reduced to simple repetition. The actions were mindless, almost instinctive. There could be no hints of fear, and no time could be wasted on thoughts of tactics or strategy. His hands flew through the all-too-familiar motions: pulling the thermal clip's ejection trigger, slamming a fresh clip into the rifle's chamber, and then snapping the loaded weapon back to his shoulder. Muscles tensed, the weapon quivered, and bullets pierced the air. Before long, it was time for the process to repeat.

And then the return fire came. A deafening sound like the braying of a thousand horns drowned out all other noise. The world's color seemed to follow – washed away, leaving only red. Scorching waves of air crashed over Vaughn. Each time it happened, he expected everything to then fade to black. Yet, thankfully, the sensory overload abated and the world returned to him. Vaughn didn't even look to see where the attack had wrought its destruction – it hadn't hit him, and that was all that mattered. He just kept firing at the Reaper Destroyer looming above him.

"_My God… have they always been this big?"_

There was nothing clever about what needed to be done. He and the others had spread out, reducing the effectiveness of the lethal streaks of crimson light. All they could do then was keep firing and stall for time, keeping the Reaper in place. It was best to try and forget that they were being picked off one by one. The scraggly, barren trees surrounding Glen Alpine provided no cover against a weapon of such terrible slaughter, and so Vaughn just stood in the open as he desperately fired his weapon.

"_What's taking them so long?"_

Vaughn knew he was one of the few still left alive. Though he tried to push all thoughts from his mind, the first pangs of guilt and horror began to loom just beneath the surface. But if they didn't do this, what hope was there? If they couldn't kill one – just **one** of those things, what could they possibly do in this war?

"Firing sequence initiated." The welcome sound crackled over Vaughn's half-broken earpiece. At first, he couldn't see anything. But then the space around the Reaper seemed to distort and waver, like the air above pavement on a hot summer's day. A rumbling came. However, it was louder than expected and strangely, it wasn't sounding from the Reaper's direction.

Vaughn's relief drained away, replaced by a growing realization that something was amiss. The rumbling intensified. "Turn it off!" Vaughn barked into his communicator. "Something's wrong, turn it off!"

And then Vaughn looked up. It should have been difficult to tell, yet the dread that now suffocated him made him sure. A single, blood-red robotic eye stared at him… throughhim. He was the Reaper's next target.

"Turn it off…" This time, Vaughn's voice sounded as nothing more than a mumble. The act brought pain, its discomfort waking him. Vaughn's chest was agonizingly sore, and the unconscious mumbling – hell, even the act of breathing – was enough to make him wince.

Worse yet, as he stirred into consciousness, the throbbing mass of agony that was his right shoulder forced a pained hiss from between Vaughn's clenched teeth.

"_My shoulder… surely my rifle's kick wasn't __**that **__bad…" _As his eyes fluttered open, reality flooded back. He wasn't a lieutenant of the Systems Alliance. Not anymore. He was now a major of the Council Naval Forces, and the Reapers were long dead. Glen Alpine… was a thing of the past.

Vaughn remembered his sundered armor and the explosion of shrapnel caused by Grall's biotic warping attack. He then recalled his own grenade's explosion and the blackness that followed. As his senses returned to him, Vaughn realized that he had been placed into a chair. Movement gave birth to a new pain: a sharp sensation in his neck that caused something wet to drip onto his chest.

"I wouldn't move too much if I were you. It didn't seem like the guy who stitched up your neck knew what he was doing." It was Kiros' voice; the familiar scornful tone made the corners of Vaughn's mouth twitch upward in relief.

Vaughn tried to feel at his neck, but his hands didn't get far. They felt heavy, and he could hear the clinking of metal links.

"Awfully low tech, isn't it?" Kiros asked, tugging at his own chains. "If it weren't for our little predicament, I'd almost find this amusing."

Vaughn examined his surroundings. He and Kiros were in an empty, dingy room. Both men were chained to a wall opposite from the room's only door, though only Vaughn had been given a chair. Vaughn looked down to see that both of his wrists were manacled, and a single chain connected the two restraints. The chain itself ran behind him, through a spike embedded in the wall. Kiros was similarly trapped.

Vaughn's mind trudged through a haze as he struggled to remember his final moments of consciousness. "My neck… Grall's axe was at my throat right before the explosion. I guess I'm lucky it didn't slash open an artery when the both of us fell." He instinctively started to shake his head, but the surge of pain made him stop. He glanced toward Kiros. "Are you okay?"

"Better than you from the looks of it." Kiros shrugged. "Stomach feels mostly healed, and whatever cranial trauma Grall gave me has been reduced to a dull pounding. But I can feel my medical nanobots just starting to wear off… indicates the two of us were out for somewhere around three hours, I think. Feels like they may have sedated us."

"Three hours. It means Lady Isara's people should've made it to the caves by now – those of them that survived, anyway," Vaughn said thoughtfully.

"So what were you mumbling about a second ago?" Kiros asked. "Turn what off?"

Vaughn silently cursed to himself. "Nothing important," he said in a feigned casual tone.

"You know, I hear nightmares about the war are common. Apparently, lots of people have them," Kiros offered.

"That include you?"

Kiros snorted. "Of course not. **I'm **well-adjusted, thank you very much." A grin crept onto the salarian's face.

Vaughn sighed, and the dream's memory allowed a sense of self-loathing to slither into his mind. _"I told Councilor Osule that I had learned from Glen Alpine… that I wouldn't underestimate an enemy. So much for that..." _Vaughn ground his teeth, but he caught himself from devolving further into self-pity. He was still in command, after all. "We need to talk about your actions at the clearing." Vaughn watched with a measure of satisfaction as the arrogant grin melted from Kiros' face.

"You want to talk about that now?"

"I do and we will. You have somewhere else you need to be?" Vaughn jerked his head toward the spikes that kept their chains secured to the wall.

Kiros scoffed. "I saved Cass' life and you know it. If I hadn't been in place, she'd be dead – there's no way the rest of you would've reacted in time."

"And if I gave the order to shoot first? You could have easily been hit by friendly fire. If you have something planned, I'll gladly accept tactical input. However, these decisions are ultimately made by me. Is that clear?"

Kiros considered this for a heartbeat and then nodded silently.

Vaughn held his stern gaze a moment longer before allowing his expression to soften. "Satisfy my curiosity – what made you intervene like that?"

Kiros shrugged. "It's what we were going to do anyway. I knew you weren't going to let some girl get executed right in front of you. But I also knew you were going to try and talk things out first. It made sense that I be in position… just in case."

"You've done your research on me," Vaughn said after a moment's pause. "Was that normal due diligence or were you reading up on the competition for the Spectre position?"

"A little bit of both, I suppose." Kiros grunted a brief chuckle.

"So are you and I going to have a problem?"

"That depends on you," Kiros said as he stretched his arms, eliciting a soft jingling noise from his chains. "Am I going to sabotage you or something? No. But if you screw up on your own and lose your spot here, I will snatch it up." The smile returned to the salarian's face. "Fair warning."

Footsteps sounded from outside the room, abruptly stopping all conversation. Vaughn started to pull on his chains – quietly drawing them taut before applying all the force his muscles could muster. The spike embedded in the wall refused to budge.

"You're awake," Colonel Elias Fletcher said with a note of surprise. He stepped briskly into the room, followed by two armed guards. "The fact that you're even alive after facing Grall is impressive. I guess the stories they tell about N7s are true." The man gave Vaughn a friendly smile.

Vaughn ignored the proffered smile. He also resisted the impossible urge to burst from the chair and pummel the man, instead glancing at Fletcher's two escorts. One of them was familiar – it took Vaughn a moment, but he soon recognized him as the prisoner they had released from Isara's camp.

"I understand you and Private Marcus have met before," Fletcher said as he saw where Vaughn was looking. "The two of you are lucky he was among those who found you. He made sure you both were brought back to Illyria."

"Lucky for you as well," Vaughn retorted. "Let me guess – not too many of your people know who I am or why I'm here. Most don't know how pointless this violence really is."

Fletcher stiffened. "I'm not the only one who has suffered from Isara's barbarism. Private Marcus lost his brother three years ago."

"He wasn't even a soldier," Marcus snarled. "Just part of a woodcutter team. Isara targeted them specifically, sneaking her skirmishers around our vanguard. By the time we realized… I didn't even recognize him at first. He was shot in the back of the head and his face… his face was…" Marcus shuddered and fell silent.

"I **am **sorry for your loss," Vaughn said. "But that doesn't excuse what you're doing now. How many of your own people did you sacrifice tonight? And how many of them were aware that in a few days' time all this would be over?"

"It's not a decision we make lightly," Fletcher responded, his words heavy with finality. "But there is no other way to ensure that justice will be done. We know that when this is over, we'll be held responsible for what happened here. We know how the last seven years will look to the rest of the galaxy. They'll see us as xenophobic monsters, and Isara will be hailed as some kind of saint. As for what happens today? Well, we're already damned anyway."

"_When people look at humanity they remember Shepard, but they also remember Cerberus,"_ Vaughn reflected. Fletcher's interpretation was probably an easy one for people to swallow, and Vaughn honestly couldn't say that the colonel's prediction was wrong. Then he stopped, for something about Fletcher's wording stood out to him. _"He said 'for what happens today'. For what __**will **__happen. It's morning now – this isn't over." _Vaughn remembered his own initial confusion at the nighttime assault, and the fact that it felt more like a push than a finishing blow. Then everything clicked.

"You wanted them to retreat to the caves," Vaughn said, his eyes looking to Fletcher in horror. "I had thought the AA guns were taken out in order to allow you to freely execute strafing runs. But those never came."

"That would be a messy, imprecise way to end things." Fletcher's solemn words answered him. "It would scatter them into the forest. And if I simply just used ground troops to encircle them, my losses would've been even greater. Too risky as well – there was the possibility that Isara could've rallied her forces to punch through our lines and escape."

"What's he talking about?" Kiros spoke up, looking unsure.

"He was clearing the way for his frigate," Vaughn said, still watching the colonel who now avoided his gaze. "The drones make it too difficult for him to do anything in orbit, and the AA guns forced the ship to keep its distance. For seven years, that frigate's just been used as a helium-3 courier for Illyria's fusion generator. But it's also the only the only thing on this planet with enough firepower to collapse a network of caves."

"It'll only take a few well-placed kinetic rounds," Fletcher added. "Simpler than trying to firebomb an area of forest, and it'll be far enough away from Illyria that I won't need to worry about risking my own people." He sighed. "I've thought about this for years. I thought nature and time would take care of my problem, but then you arrived. I only have this brief window to settle accounts…"

"You'll kill hundreds of people!" Vaughn's voice peaked with anger. "After you do this, there's no chance the Council will-"

"It's like the colonel said," Marcus interrupted. "We're damned anyway. We won't escape punishment, but neither will they."

"Major Vaughn, you accused me of misleading my people in order to bring about this assault." Fletcher's words now rang with more confidence, as if given backbone by Marcus' declaration. "And you're right. But I also did that to protect them. I've given them plausible deniability; only a few us will suffer the burden of consequence."

"You can't do this! Think, dammit!" Vaughn shouted, and in a brief burst of rage, he savagely pulled at his chains. The spike sat motionless, despite his fury.

Fletcher shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Major Vaughn."

"What do you intend to do with us?" Kiros asked. Whereas Vaughn's face flushed with anger, Kiros' dark green skin had paled noticeably.

"You will stay here," Fletcher said. "You are not my enemy. In fact, after all this, I still intend to help you. Soon the SSV Verdun will finish its task. Then, I shall give you the power couplings you require. You will be able to save the Antietam."

Vaughn said nothing. He felt drained. Hollow.

Fletcher turned away from his two prisoners and proceeded to the door. One of his guards followed him, though Marcus lagged behind – evidently staying to guard Vaughn and Kiros. As Fletcher was about to pass through the doorway, he halted. He half-turned to look at Vaughn. "I can tell you're a good man, Major Vaughn. If there's one piece of wisdom I can offer you, it's this: be careful when it comes to mercy. It was difficult to drive away Isara and her people all those years ago, but I should have known it would bring trouble. Damned half-measures… I should have killed them all right then. Think of how much pain we could have avoided…" And with that, Fletcher was gone.


	14. Ascent

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Ascent

A sense of dread lingered with Fletcher's departure, and in that brooding silence both Major Daniel Vaughn and Kiros Myzet sat motionless and despondent. Their jailor, Private Marcus, leaned against the opposite wall with his arms folded and gaze averted – like Vaughn and Kiros, he also seemed unwilling to speak. They all might have remained in that uncomfortable silence for hours had it not been for a commotion that sounded from the room's entrance.

The door began to slide open. However, it apparently opened too slowly, for a large clawed hand appeared and roughly shoved the panel into the recess of the wall. There was a screeching of metal as the door protested the forced journey along its rails. The noise died. Grall lumbered into the room.

Both Vaughn and Kiros gave a start as the krogan seemed to fill the entire room with his monstrous bulk. Vaughn's heart began a panicked thumping. He hadn't expected for his grenade to kill – at that distance krogans were still quite resilient – but he never dreamed that Grall would be up and walking after only a few hours.

Indeed, it looked as if Grall **shouldn't **have been walking. Yellow drops of blood left a trail as Grall, oblivious to the puddles, thundered into the room. A noticeable limp barely slowed him. The right side of the krogan's face was plastered with bandages though smaller, unwrapped gashes could still be seen. Grall's right eye was also covered, leaving only a single bright-red slit of malevolence that narrowed at the sight of Vaughn.

"You're not supposed to be here," Marcus said. He reflexively took a step away from Grall as the krogan entered the room. The private's hand nearly reached to a sidearm at his waist, but he stopped himself. Marcus' gaze then dropped down to what Grall carried with him. His eyes widened. "The colonel ordered you to put that away when you're here in Illyria. It makes people nervous." The private's gaze remained fixed as the pale light shone dully off of Grall's makeshift battle axe.

Grall ignored the man and instead took a step closer to Vaughn. His lips parted to reveal sharp rows of teeth. "Well now..." the krogan said. "Here you are."

"Good to see you up and about," Vaughn said flatly, hiding his unease. "Though, it seems you're actually sober this time."

It was true. Grall's eyes were no longer dilated, and his perpetual biotic shimmer was gone. His voice sounded in a malicious rumble. "I have business to settle with you, human." For a heartbeat it seemed as if he would step closer, but instead he then turned to Marcus. "Where's Fletcher?" he growled.

"Not here," Marcus said. "He's waiting while they ready the frigate. But I'll save you some time, Grall. He's not letting you have any. You're supposed to rest, heal, and stay out of the way."

Grall snarled in anger. "You **will **save me time. Where does he keep it? Tell me. Bring it to me." Blue light flickered from the tips of Grall's fingers, but the flare was weak and died after producing little effect. Grall frowned in confusion as he looked down at his hand. It was then Vaughn noticed that the krogan's extremities were twitching ever so slightly.

"_He's going through withdrawal," _Vaughn realized. _"His body's become so reliant on those biotic-enhancing drugs that when he's not on them, he has trouble using his ability..."_

Regardless, Grall was still a fearsome sight to behold. He loomed over Marcus, standing over half a meter taller than the nervous human. "Well?" Grall prompted after a moment of Marcus' hesitation.

Marcus swallowed. "You don't need any more Minagen. The ground assault is over, and the colonel doesn't want you on that stuff while you're around civilians. It makes you unstable."

"Knives…" the krogan hissed, shaking his head. "It's like knives in my skull without it." The krogan lifted a hand to his scarred frontal plate. A low, pained growl followed, reverberating in Grall's throat at the apparent agony. Then abruptly, the growl erupted in a sudden crescendo as he bellowed at Marcus. "Damn what Fletcher wants! Where is it?!" he shouted in a squall of murderous fury. The battle axe glinted menacingly as the krogan brandished it.

Marcus jumped back a pace and drew his pistol in a quick, practiced motion. The weapon's barrel leveled at Grall's face, though the trembling in Marcus' hand betrayed fear. "You know what, Grall? We don't actually need you anymore. We don't need your insane, coked-up ramblings or your threats. After today, Isara and her hounds will all be dead and you'll have nothing left to hunt." An undercurrent of anger ran through Marcus' voice; the bitter words tumbled from his mouth like water from a burst dam. "We… we won't need you anymore."

Grall froze, and a deafening silence fell over the room. On the krogan's face, Vaughn could see a poorly-controlled rage thrash just beneath the surface. Yet, after a tense several moments, the savagery appeared to calm. The axe lowered. "There's no need for this, is there?" Grall asked, somehow imbuing his gravelly voice with a placating tone. "We're on the same side after all."

The pistol in Marcus' hand stayed raised, but the beginnings of doubt began to appear on the man's face. He said nothing.

"That's better," Grall soothed, despite the fact that Marcus had done nothing different. "Fletcher would trust you to keep calm. He relies on you. You know, he once told me-" Grall never finished the sentence. As if some switch had been flipped, the krogan suddenly dropped low and lunged forward with the axe. There had been no time to heft his arm back and swing the weapon in a proper cleaving blow and so he rammed it forward like a spear instead. It wasn't an ideal use for the weapon, but the sheer force behind the strike drove the pole end and upper tip of the axe's blade into Marcus' chest.

A single shot rang out, followed by a thud as Marcus slammed into the wall behind. There came a croaking gasp, the smell of blood, and a final wheeze as Marcus slumped to the ground. His lifeless eyes stared down at the blunt pole end that had partially impaled him and crushed his heart.

"Fletcher barely knows who you are," Grall sneered. He spat at the corpse and then began to wrench his weapon free. Fresh blood seeped from a bullet wound in the krogan's thigh, but he didn't even seem to register the injury.

"Well that doesn't bode well," Kiros muttered under his breath. "Orders, sir?" he asked mockingly to Vaughn.

Vaughn ignored the jab and whispered back. "My chains won't budge. You have any ideas?"

Kiros gave a confident smile. "I can get us out of this." He paused, then gave a shrug as the reality of the situation overrode his casual arrogance. "...Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Or I just piss him off and we die horribly. It could go either way." Kiros smirked and then raised his voice. "Grall, I'm curious – what clan do you belong to?"

Grall turned, holding the axe now tipped with crimson. He looked as if he was noticing Kiros for the first time. "Doesn't matter. Clans are pointless. You only have yourself to rely on in life."

"What a shame," Kiros lamented. "You see, when I'm talking to krogan, I like to know if my ancestors used **their **ancestors as test subjects. Did I mention that the Myzet clan did much of the work on perfecting the original Genophage?" The salarian leaned forward confidingly. "You know, I'm curious… I heard there were a few mutations of the virus. As you know, the Genophage was only intended to reduce fertility, but… well, some mutations apparently affected 'performance', if you know what I mean." Kiros winked. "You know anything about that?"

"Oh, that's funny…" Grall said in a low, dangerous voice. He hefted the axe so that the pole of the weapon rested on his right shoulder. "I've got an even funnier joke for you." In a flash of movement, the axe vanished from Grall's shoulder and sped downward in a silvery arc. Drops of Marcus' blood flecked against the wall. The speed of the attack shocked Vaughn, and he almost expected a spray of green salarian blood to follow. But instead of gore, there were sparks.

Kiros pushed off from the wall, skidding to a halt in the center of the room. His chains scraped on the ground as the two equal lengths of metal links followed him. Vaughn blinked in wonderment. Grall was fast, yet Kiros had been faster. The salarian had managed to avoid the axe strike, moving so that his chain suffered the blow instead. He was still manacled to his lengths of chain, yet they did little to impede the salarian's speed.

"You-!" Grall bellowed, but was cut off by his own snarl of pain. The krogan recoiled a step as one of Kiros' chains lashed out like a whip. The metal links reopened one of the bandaged gashes on the larger alien's cheek. Grall's snarl intensified into a roar as he flung out his free hand toward Kiros. Biotic energy swirled around his hand… and then fizzled out.

"Yes, yes…" Kiros said absently, sounding like a physician lost in thought during an inspection. "Performance issues indeed."

This time, Grall lost himself in fury. He swung the axe wildly, hacking at Kiros. The attacks were so frenzied that the krogan likely would've thrown himself off balance if hadn't been for his massive weight and strength. Kiros was forced to halt his attacks with his chains and instead kept in constant movement. The salarian dodged with repeated sidesteps, circling his enemy and trying to keep on the blind side caused by Grall's eyepatch.

Vaughn watched the flurry of movement. Kiros was displaying a skill in close combat that awed Vaughn, yet worry was building up in the back of the major's mind. Grall was heavily injured, and so Kiros' speed advantage **did** give him an edge. However, Grall had the physical strength of a krogan – one far beyond that of salarians with their relatively frail limbs. If Kiros had his monomecular daggers, Vaughn would've felt more at ease, but all the salarian had were chains that proved to be nothing more than a stinging annoyance. The worst feeling of all was knowing that while he was still restrained, there was nothing Vaughn could do.

"Slippery little bastard," Grall said between panting gulps for air. He had halted his attacks for the moment and looked to be catching his breath. On the ground, small puddles of blood collected from half a dozen trickling wounds on Grall's body – some caused by Kiros, some from the night before which had reopened.

Kiros didn't respond. A small gash showed on the salarian's upper arm from where Grall had nearly landed an arm-severing cut. The mockery was gone from the salarian's face, replaced by a look of intense concentration.

Vaughn watched anxiously as Kiros instead responded to Grall with an attack. The salarian whipped at the krogan's legs with his left hand chain, but the attack proved to be a feint as he let the blow falter. Instead, he snapped his right hand chain at the krogan's face, presumably aiming for the alien's remaining eye. But as he did so, Vaughn cursed. The strike to the face was too slow, and Vaughn knew it. He watched as Kiros hesitated a heartbeat too long before pulling back on the chain, and to Vaughn's horror, Grall grabbed the whistling metal links in mid-air.

Grall roared in triumph. He pulled, forcing Kiros to stumble forward. The axe rose, and as the room reverberated with the krogan's bellowing, the axe fell. Salarian blood splashed on the already-stained floor.

The echoes died. Yet, in their stead, there was a curious humming noise, followed by the clattering of metal on the ground. It was the axe that dropped. Kiros still stood, for instead of resisting the pull, he had moved forward and inside the axe blow's reach – too close to Grall for the blade to have done its work. As Kiros stood there, the salarian's right fist was raised up in the air, looking as if he had just followed through on an uppercut. But the fist had not connected with Grall's chin. Instead, the salarian's omni-blade sizzled in the quiet as it impaled up the soft underside of Grall's chin, through the roof of his mouth, and into the krogan's brain.

Grall's eyes widened and it seemed as if he tried to speak. However, the omni-blade had effectively sealed the alien's mouth shut – likely piercing his tongue as well – and so the words never came. Grall's body spasmed and Kiros had to throw himself out of the way to avoid the collapsing krogan corpse.

"What the hell?" Vaughn's mouth fell open. As Kiros pulled away, Vaughn could see a small omni-tool's emitter protruding from the top of the salarian's wrist, **through** the dark green flesh. Some blood still trickled, and to Vaughn's slight revulsion, small flaps of skin hung loose from where the emitter had erupted to the surface.

Kiros ignored the injury and gave Vaughn an ostentatious bow. "One of the first rules of the Special Tasks Group: always have a backup weapon the enemy won't find. Always be prepared." Kiros began to hack away at Vaughn's chains with the omni-blade.

A relieved smile came to Vaughn's face. "You know, I think that's the motto of the Boy Scouts back on Earth," he said as he stretched, glad to be free. The manacles were still locked around his wrists, but it was undoubtedly an improvement. "The 'be prepared' bit, I mean," Vaughn hastily amended. "Not the part about having backup weapons."

"Why not? Clearly, you humans coddle your children too much." Kiros began to work on severing his own chains.

"Does that hurt?" Vaughn asked as he watched Kiros work.

"I'm exceedingly tough," Kiros boasted. "...And a dose of painkillers gets released into my system when the omni-tool activates. That helps a bit." He paused and looked around. "Why has nobody come in here to check on the noise?"

"Like Fletcher said, he only kept a limited number of people in the loop – and I imagine many of them were leading his attacks in the forest. He's still trying to keep our presence a secret." Vaughn moved over to Marcus' corpse and picked up the man's pistol. "How long a charge do you have on that omni-tool?" he asked Kiros.

"Just a few minutes. As you might imagine, there's not a whole lot of room under my skin for a power source. Want me to try contacting the rest of the team?"

Vaughn shook his head. "Save the battery. By now they'll have guessed that we're captured. Standard protocol in that case is to change frequencies and encryption modules. They'll have picked any one of at least two dozen."

"Right." Kiros nodded. "So what now?"

"First, we find out where we are and make sure the rest of the building is clear. I want to be sure about us not having company."

It didn't take long for Vaughn and Kiros to gauge their surroundings. Luckily, any locks to the jail room had been broken by Grall, and so as they left the room, they found themselves in the basement of a tiny, one-story house. The dimly-lit basement hallway gave way to a narrow staircase, which then led up to a cramped room that opened to the outside. It was a shoddy prison, but given Fletcher's policy of shooting Isara's exiles on-sight, Vaughn figured the building was rarely-used.

"No signs of panic outside," Vaughn observed as he peered through the room's single, dingy window. The streets were empty, tinged in the steely-gray light of early dawn. "We might actually have the element of surprise here."

"Engineering Crew to the landing pad." A voice echoed from outside the building, the surprise of the noise causing Vaughn to jerk away from window. "Engineering Crew Alpha to the landing pad," the voice repeated in its slightly metallic timbre.

"They have an intercom system set up," Vaughn realized aloud.

"And they're blaring messages at this ungodly hour of the morning?" Kiros shook his head. "Despicable."

Vaughn turned, finding the salarian standing in front of a table at the room's opposite corner. "What's that?" he asked.

"It's what exactly what I needed." Grinning, Kiros threw off the tarp that had covered the table's surface.

There was a scattering of pouches which Vaughn recognized as being from his confiscated utility belt. He rummaged through them, but found them all empty. Yet, there were also a few devices that Vaughn couldn't recognize. "Those yours?" he asked Kiros.

"They are indeed," Kiros said, inspecting them for damage. "It looks like they took our weapons, our ammo, and our rations – but they left these. They probably had no idea what to make of them… I'm always grateful for human ignorance."

Vaughn rolled his eyes. He couldn't see anything useful of his that Fletcher had left behind, but Kiros was evidently satisfied with what remained of his gear. "Is that your tactical cloak?" Vaughn guessed.

"Very good, major," Kiros said with mock approval. He clipped the device onto his waist, then held still for a minute as the cloak readjusted to his frame. A second later, Kiros vanished, leaving only a pocket of barely-noticeable distortion where he once stood.

"It's a good thing you have it – I can probably walk around out there with little problem, but you're going to catch some unwanted attention."

"Catch a few bullets you mean," Kiros remarked.

"We don't have much time," Vaughn said. "We need to stop that frigate. Lucky for us, it sounds like it's not quite ready to take off yet."

"That's only part of the solution," Kiros said. "As long as Fletcher's still in play, we're at risk." The salarian's eyes narrowed as he studied Vaughn. "He needs to be taken out."

"You're right about him being the key to this," Vaughn agreed. "But we might still need him alive. I just need to discredit him in front of the people of Illyria – to let them know he's been lying to them about our presence. If we just kill their leader, it could make things worse." But despite his words of caution, Vaughn wondered at how he would react upon seeing Fletcher. He shuddered at the thought of the massacre Fletcher planned and of the massacre Fletcher had already caused. His trigger finger twitched at the thought of Glissa's blood-soaked body.

Kiros gave an unintelligible murmur of disgust, but didn't contradict Vaughn. "Let me guess – you're going after him yourself."

"And I need **you** to find the Verdun. You may not be able to capture the frigate by yourself, but do what you can to stall it. Delay it as best you can," Vaughn said, eying the tactical cloak emitter now at Kiros' waist. "Just be sure not to damage the engine's power couplings."

Kiros scoffed. "I know what I'm doing. Do you? You still look like hell."

Vaughn felt like hell. Anytime he moved, his right shoulder and chest sent bolts of pain flickering through his body. His head throbbed with a dull pounding, and even their previous short walk up the stairs was enough to make him slightly dizzy. _"Might have a minor concussion from that grenade," _Vaughn thought. But he could stand, and he could hold a gun. That would be enough.

"I'll be fine." Vaughn opened up his pistol's firing chamber, studying the faintly-glowing thermal clip. "As long as I don't need to fire more than seven shots," he added.

Kiros frowned. "A frigate on a landing pad will be easy enough for me to find. But do you know how you're going to find Fletcher?"

"I might," Vaughn said thoughtfully. "Fletcher wouldn't allow your gear to leave this building because its salarian origin was too noticeable. But the other guard, the one that left with Fletcher… I'm pretty sure he was wearing my omni-tool."

Kiros thought for a second and shrugged. "I didn't notice, but it wouldn't surprise me. If Fletcher has even half a brain, he'll be trying to hack into it. No way he'll ignore a possible-" Kiros abruptly halted mid-sentence, struck by a sudden idea.

And Vaughn gave a triumphant smile. "So… my suspicions were correct," he said airily.

For a moment, Kiros looked too confused to speak. Then there was panic, and a deluge of questions and excuses tried to pour from the salarian's mouth all at once.

"Well it was just a precaution-" Kiros paused and furrowed his brow. "You see, once the mission was over I was going to remove it and-" The salarian's face morphed into an uncomfortable smile. "It's common practice in the STG to-" His fists clenched. "Dammit, Corporal Volkov is guilty of the same damn-… Dammit!" Kiros heaved a deep breath to release his exasperation. "How did you know?" he asked through clenched teeth once he had calmed.

"That you put a tracker on my omni-tool?" Vaughn asked. "Back in the forest, it almost seemed as if you were expecting me to come get you. And then afterward, before Grall arrived, I told you about how this team needed to be founded on trust. The guilt on your face was as clear as day."

"I nearly told you then." Kiros shook his head. "I would've told you... And I **was** going to remove it at the end of this mission. Sometimes… it's a quicker way to learn about who you're serving under." The salarian sighed as he activated his omni-tool. The device was running at half power to conserve energy, but on the faint display a small triangle rotated slowly, a few centimeters offset from the image's center.

"How far away is that?" Vaughn asked as he started to commit the image to memory.

"Just a city block away, northwest of here," Kiros replied. "That's where you'll find Fletcher. Or his guard, at least. Let's hope they're still together."

"Either way, it's a start; I'll find out where he's hiding," Vaughn declared. He patted Kiros on the shoulder as he pushed past to the door, but paused at the threshold. "I'll tell you now the same thing I'm going to tell Alexei. Pull something like that without permission again, and I'll have you off this expedition. And after what I've seen from you today… that would be a real shame."

"Yes sir. And..." Kiros trailed off, and for a moment it seemed he wouldn't continue. "Good luck, major," the salarian finally said. "Be careful."

* * *

Vaughn walked down the streets of Illyria, accompanied only by the echoes of his footsteps. _"Is this part of the city deserted?" _he wondered. _"Or maybe it's still too early in the morning..."_

It was hard to tell which was true. Normally, Vaughn wouldn't have expected people to be living in these half-ruined buildings, but he doubted there were the resources to fully reconstruct the city. Much of what Vaughn saw reminded him of the early days after the war: the cavernous hollows left by collapsed roofs, the mountains of rubble that had once been skyscrapers, and a fine layer of dust that seemed to cover everything. There was some evidence of reconstruction, however. Frameworks of lighter-colored wood told of freshly-cut trees brought in from Elysium's forests. It was heartening to see, yet there was clearly much that still needed to be done. In the end, Vaughn was grateful for the solitude, for it spared him a potential confrontation. He was human like the other occupants of Illyria, but doubtless his haggard and bloody appearance would have attracted a second look.

"_Here."_ Vaughn stopped. He found himself before a tall wooden fence that stretched between two collapsed concrete buildings. The fence was tightly constructed and built high so that the single door in its center was the only means of discovering what lay beyond. Vaughn was certain that Kiros' signal led here, for he had been counting his footsteps and maintaining a fixed gait – an old trick from his military training. _"Fletcher better still be here… Wherever 'here' is..."_

Vaughn pushed lightly on the door, letting it swing inward just enough for him to squeeze through. Taking in a deep breath, and with his pistol at the ready, he entered.

It was a cemetery. This wasn't immediately obvious, for the headstones were little more than irregular pieces of rubble jutting from the ground. It wasn't until Vaughn saw the crudely engraved names that he realized their purpose. In all, there was somewhere close to a hundred of them on a field of coarse dirt, ordered in neat rows and ringed by the fence. And among those graves was Fletcher, kneeling before one of the stones, his bodyguard several paces away to the side. By the way the headstones were oriented, both men had their backs to Vaughn. _"Diana Fletcher..." _Vaughn read from the weathered concrete slab.

"Do you really think your wife would want you to go through with this?" Vaughn called out.

Fletcher jerked his head as if he had just been slapped. His bodyguard also whirled around, but both men froze as they saw the pistol in Vaughn's hand. "Major? I… Where is Private Marcus?" Fletcher asked in a hoarse voice.

"Dead," Vaughn sighed, his words blunted by exhaustion. "But at Grall's hand, not mine." The major shook his head, heading off Fletcher's bemusement. "And then we took care of him. There's been enough death today. It's time to bring this to an end, Fletcher."

The colonel's face contorted with bitterness. Then, to Vaughn's surprise, he ran.

The pistol in Vaughn's hand twitched to the left, tracking Fletcher as he darted between the gravestones. There came the split second in which the shot lined up perfectly, and the urge to squeeze the trigger swelled up inside Vaughn. It would have been so easy… but he stopped himself. _"I can't," _he realized._ "We still need him alive."_

Vaughn was also able to resist the urge because he knew Fletcher had no hope of escaping. He blocked the only door, and the whole area had the high fence wall which Fletcher couldn't possibly hope to vault. As Vaughn realized this, he caught a glimpse of Fletcher's face and noticed something: a sly grin. _"He knows I won't risk killing him," _Vaughn realized with sudden horror.

The major desperately swung the pistol back to his right, toward the gunshot he knew was coming. Sure enough, as Vaughn's eyes darted back toward Fletcher's bodyguard, he could see a handgun rising – aiming for him. There was no time to settle his own weapon. There was only instinct. Instinct had warned him of the true danger, even before rational thought coalesced in his mind. And it was the instinct of muscle memory that Vaughn relied on now as two simultaneous shots rang out.

Vaughn's pistol hovered steady, ready to fire a second shot. But none was needed. Blood misted from the bodyguard's head as it jerked backward, sending a familiar metallic stench that permeated the graveyard.

"Jesus..." Fletcher said, aghast. He had stopped running and was staring wide-eyed as his subordinate slumped over his wife's gravestone, sheeting it with blood. He turned accusing eyes toward Vaughn. "Sergeant DeLuca was a good man. He-..." The words died as Fletcher's shock abated and he seemed to realize the foolishness of his indignation. "You, uh... you're bleeding, major."

Vaughn glanced at his left arm. Blood stained the shirt sleeve of his upper arm, and with this revelation came the surge of pain. It was enough to make him curse, but it was manageable – it was just another to add to the list. Vaughn carefully felt at the wound.

"Looks like it just grazed you," Fletcher offered as he moved toward Vaughn with tentative steps. It looked as if the man hadn't thought to carry his own weapon, and so the defiance had fled from him.

"I think you're right." Vaughn nodded. Then suddenly, he swung his wounded arm, striking Fletcher on the side of the head with an open palm. He watched with a measure of satisfaction as the man stumbled to the ground. "You deserve worse than that, you bastard," Vaughn snarled in vented frustration. "But I'm going to make sure you do the right thing and put a stop to this madness." He stooped over the corpse of Sergeant DeLuca and tore a strip of unbloodied cloth to bind the wound on his arm. He also made sure to retrieve his omni-tool from the dead sergeant's wrist.

"And how am I going to do that?" Fletcher rasped as he used a gravestone to help himself to his feet.

"Your intercom system," Vaughn said. "You're going to tell the truth – the whole truth – and you're going to declare a ceasefire. And don't think about causing any trouble," he warned. "Even in this state, I'm stronger and faster than you. And I'll be faster still if you force me to put a bullet in your leg."

"There's a problem with that plan," Fletcher mused softly.

"And what is that?"

"By now, people will have heard the gunshots."

"_Dammit, he's right." _Vaughn ground his teeth. "Then we just need to move fast." Vaughn pushed Fletcher forward and moved to conceal his weapon – his hope was that the only thing anybody would see is Fletcher and a bodyguard, nothing more. But those damn gunshots…

Vaughn followed Fletcher out of the cemetery and into the street. The major craned his head up to look at the power lines. They fed electricity to the makeshift speakers that were mounted on street corners, and Vaughn watched where they led. He had a pretty good guess that a communications building would be at the other end of the thick cabling, probably not too far from Illyria's power generator.

"Major, I think we both know what will happen when the first group of my soldiers arrives," Fletcher said, half-turning to look at Vaughn behind him. "You're fast and you're good, but you won't make it to the city's center. I will likely die in the crossfire, but I am prepared for that. And so I remind you: my offer of friendship still stands."

"No." The answer came automatically, escaping Vaughn's lips before he could dwell on it – before he could agonize over it. Deep down, he knew it was the only choice he could make. "Not if it means the death of all the people in those caves."

A streak of red light blossomed in the west, rising high against the early morning sky before dropping. A second followed soon after somewhere south of it. They were still far away, but Vaughn thought he recognized them for what they were. _"Flares?" _he wondered.

"What in the hell..." Fletcher whispered. A third flare rose and fell.

A moment later, the intercom speakers buzzed to life. "Squads Alpha through Epsilon report to the western ramparts immediately. Repeat: Squads Alpha through Epsilon to the western ramparts."

"Fletcher?" Vaughn asked, though he had an idea of what was happening.

"The outer ring of the city is kept abandoned," Fletcher said in a distracted voice. "But we keep scouts there. Something is speeding through on its way here, and-" A fourth flare erupted, and Vaughn thought this one seemed larger – closer. "...And it's moving fast," Fletcher finished quietly.

Vaughn smiled. "Alexei, you glorious bastard..."


End file.
